


Campfire Stories, Season Three

by Polrobin



Series: Campfire Series [3]
Category: Stargate: SG-1
Genre: F/M, Gen, Growing RST, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-07
Updated: 2009-06-06
Packaged: 2017-10-21 06:22:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 75,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/221907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polrobin/pseuds/Polrobin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A/N: So. This is different. <i>Into the Fire</i> is probably the shippiest episode to date, bar none. <i>There But for the Grace of God</i> and <i>Solitudes</i> have their shippy moments, but this episode...wowsers! You have Jack eyeballing Carter on the cryo table, that sexy as <i>hell</i> moment when she's pressed up against his back as they hide from the Jaffa, and then there's the hug. THE hug. I don't often do mid-ep 'what are they thinking as this happens' stories, but this episode begged for it. There will be a second story to follow this, a more proper "campfire" story. There's a campfire in here, or...at least a fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Out of the Frying Pan

  
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A/N: So. This is different. _Into the Fire_ is probably the shippiest episode to date, bar none. _There But for the Grace of God_ and _Solitudes_ have their shippy moments, but this episode...wowsers! You have Jack eyeballing Carter on the cryo table, that sexy as _hell_ moment when she's pressed up against his back as they hide from the Jaffa, and then there's the hug. THE hug. I don't often do mid-ep 'what are they thinking as this happens' stories, but this episode begged for it. There will be a second story to follow this, a more proper "campfire" story. There's a campfire in here, or...at least a fire.

Annnnnd...here we go with Season 3! Feedback is always answered (well, if you give me an email addy to which to respond!).

Set during _Into the Fire_.

 _  
**Out of the Frying Pan**   
_

Sam ducked behind a pillar and waited for the heavily armed Jaffa to pass. She swallowed the fear that was threatening to rise up and choke her, concentrating instead on blowing out long, slow breaths. Every instinct she had screamed to _hurry_! Every moment that passed meant another moment of agony for him and she couldn't stand it. She closed her eyes and listened as the Jaffa passed, focusing on her breathing. On reigning in her fear.

 _In and out, focus, Samantha. Focus. Your life...his life...depends on it._

As the footsteps faded away she tucked her chin low and raised her P90, peering slowly around the corner.

 _Damn it! Where the hell is..._ There. On the floor. This _was_ the right room. The white-smocked form of the woman who had zatted Colonel O'Neill in the quasi-gateroom was slumped against the wall, apparently unconscious. As she stepped closer, the woman's eyes fluttered open. Sam leaned in close to hear her words, wincing at the familiar deep echoing voice that indicated the presence of a Goa'uld.

"Forgive me, there was no other way."

Sam's eyes widened as she realized, " _You're_ the Tok'ra."

The woman nodded and gestured toward the console at one end of the room. "Those controls are set. Activate them."

Realizing the woman must have put the Colonel into the cryogenic tank again, Sam quickly rose and activated the panel. The Tok'ra spoke again, her voice weaker now.

"The Goa'uld within is gone. The cryogenic process destroyed it before it had a chance to meld with the host. He will revive automatically." Even those short sentences seemed to drain her and she once again slumped to her side against the wall.

Sam, her heart in her throat, raced around to the pod containing her CO. She impatiently pulled the buckles aside, resting her hand briefly on the Colonel's still damp chest. She was relieved to feel it rise and fall suddenly as he began to regain consciousness. As his eyelids started to flicker she leaned close. "Colonel?" _Oh, God. Please be in there. Please._ She again rested a hand on his chest, closing her eyes as she concentrated. "I don't feel its presence. You're going to be all right." She knew those last words were more for herself than him. She turned to try to find him something dry to wear and came face-to-face with Hathor.

As the Goa'uld raised her hand and activated the hand-device, Sam slowly sank to her knees. She flashed back to just a short time before, huddled in the hidden Tok'ra tunnel with the remnants of the rescue party. She'd been desperate to get back, frantically grasping at any straw that she might use to convince Makepeace to leave her behind. Finally she'd hit on one, destroying the power generators.

" _Request permission to go back and try to shut it down." Sam held her breath, hoping the Colonel would buy it. Before he could say anything, Daniel spoke up._

" _I'll go with you."_

 _No. The last thing she wanted was to have to protect Daniel. It was bad enough that she was about to defy Makepeace's orders and go back for her CO, but she didn't want to drag Daniel down with her. Scrambling, she glanced down at his still bleeding leg and then sent him a fierce, steady look, praying that he'd get it. "No Daniel, you're hurt."_

 _Makepeace cut off Daniel's protest. "I'll send an SG team along to back you up."_

 _God! What was it going to take! Sam shook her head, then leaned forward, her voice earnest. "Even if I can knock out the generator, you're going to need everyone you've got to take on those towers." Pleasepleasepleaseplease...just...shut up, all of you! I need to do this...alone. Please. I need to go...now!_

 _She blew out a breath as the rigid Colonel finally nodded. "All right. If you can, blow the generator just before our reinforcements come through. We'll try to take on the towers at the same time. That might give us the tactical advantage we need."_

 _Sam barely acknowledged his instruction before turning and racing back the way they'd come, mentally retracing her steps to get back to the Colonel..._ her _Colonel...as quickly as she could._

Sam's eyes rolled back and she fought to stay conscious. Hathor frowned and muttered something Sam couldn't quite catch, then leaned in closer. The pain in Sam's head suddenly intensified and then was just as suddenly cut off. She collapsed to the floor, breathing hard and trying to stop the room from spinning. She was vaguely aware of voices around her, one high and defiant, the other low and angry. Very angry.

Suddenly Sam was jerked to her knees. As her head snapped up she turned and saw him. Colonel O'Neill. Before her. A desperate, almost wild look in his eyes.

"Carter!"

Sam blinked, trying to clear the fog in her head. "Sir, what happened?"

The Colonel held her, his hands tightly gripping her shoulders as he stared at her, almost as if he couldn't believe his eyes. "Oh, God," he breathed as he yanked her body to his.

Stunned, Sam could only go with the movement as her CO wrapped his arms around her, his hands coming up and gripping her shoulders. The relief in his voice as he'd pulled her to him shook her. It took her a couple of seconds to respond and suddenly the mist that had fogged her brain was lifted. _Oh my God! He's...he's alive. Oh, thank you, God. Thank you._ Sitting there, knee to knee, their bodies touching from the waist up, Sam could only cling to him as tightly as he was holding her. He was shivering as he clutched at her, his head buried deep into her shoulder. Sam closed her eyes and held him to her as tightly as he was holding her. She'd never been held so...desperately...before. So fiercely. All thoughts of rank, propriety, regulations, and the orders she'd defied to get here were gone. For the first time in her life Sam couldn't think clearly. Her mind was a churning sea of emotions, awash in the overwhelming feeling of relief in holding him and being held in his arms.

 _He's alive, he's alive, he's alive, he's alive..._. The words chased themselves around in her head and Sam finally understood.

She loved him.

Here, in this parody of the safest place she knew, surrounded by so many who wished them dead, Samantha Carter came face to face with something she'd been denying for more than a year. Something to which she had been too frightened to admit. As they clawed at each other, each trying to pull the other still closer, Sam finally let go. Gave in to her need...in to her fear. And in that moment she realized that there wasn't anything to be afraid of. She'd lost her heart and found it again in the same instant. She'd lost it to the man whom she held so tightly in her arms, who was still shivering so hard he was making her shake as well. She'd found it in the way he was holding her in return, his upper body pressed so tightly against her own. As another tremor rocked them both, Sam asked again, "Sir? What happened?"

His voice shaking as badly as his body, O'Neill finally ground out, "Hathor's...gone."

Sam could still sense the Naquadah in him, faint though it was. The Tok'ra had assured her that the symbiote wouldn't have had time to "blend" with the Colonel, that the cryo chamber would have killed it, but she had to ask. Her fingers opened and closed, grasping desperately at his shoulders as she spoke, her voice laden with fear and uncertainty. She could hear the tears in her voice and for the first time in her career couldn't bring herself to care. _Please..._ "What about...you?"

Impossibly, O'Neill hugged her tighter, but his words eased the fear gripping her throat. "C-cold. S little chilly...but…I'm me. I'm me."

Her eyes closed again and relief flooded through her. It was him. Inside. And it was him, holding her so desperately. How long they sat there, Sam didn't know. She was content to keep her arms around this man until he wanted to let go. Sam explained to the Colonel about Makepeace's rescue attempt and both listened as the Tok'ra told them how to find what they needed to. It was a testament to how cold...how shaken...her Colonel was that he held her to him even as she briefed him. That alone was enough to make her hold him even tighter.

Finally she felt his tremors slow and she eased back when he did. Even then they maintained contact. The Colonel kept his hands on her upper arms and Sam cupped his elbows with her hands. She didn't know how he felt, but _she_ needed the contact.

With the Tok'ra's instructions, the reality of the situation came crashing down on Sam and she leaned back heavily on her knees. _Oh my God_ , she thought. _I really, really love him. I would have..._ Now Sam began to shake as she realized that she had seriously considered remaining here— _dying_ here—had she not been able to recover him. The realization that he held that power over her shook her to her core. Even more powerful was the sudden understanding that she wasn't afraid of him having that power. She tried to rise and couldn't make her legs work. The Colonel reached down to help her up, his eyes on hers, silently asking if she was okay. Sam simply nodded as they exited the chamber, aware that as the Colonel led the way out of the chamber he had yet to release her hand.

Shaking her head to clear it, Sam frowned as she followed the white-clad figure of her CO. The high emotion of a few moments before was fading and with it came the realization of what her epiphany would mean for the future. She'd defied the orders of a senior officer to return to an enemy base to free her Commanding Officer. She had done so knowing full well she was more than likely giving the enemy another Tau'ri hostage and thereby putting Earth in jeopardy. She had manipulated the situation to her benefit, essentially lying to Makepeace, in order to go back for...the man she loved.

 _Oh, this is bad, Samantha._

There was going to be all kinds of hell to pay for this, she was sure. Realizing with a start that he still held her hand in his, she ducked behind another ornately decorated pillar and pulled him into the empty room behind them both.

"Sir," she hissed as another patrol passed by.

"What is it, Carter?"

Sam reached down and pulled her sidearm out of its holster. "I thought you might want this."

O'Neill looked down as she placed the weapon into his hands, then shook his head. "Uh, no thanks, Carter." He slowly opened and closed his hand, grimacing in pain. "A bit too stiff."

"Sir?" Sam reholstered her weapon and took his hands in hers. Oh God! No wonder! "Your hands are like ice, Sir!" How had she missed that before? She bent and blew on them, briskly rubbing them with her own.

"Yeah. I'd kill for one of our little campfires about now, Carter."

"Yeah, me...oh wait!" Sam kept his hands in her left as she reached around into the pocket of her ALICE vest. "Daniel shoved these–"

"Carter, I don't think we have time to light a fire!"

O'Neill was crowded close beside her and Sam could still feel him shivering. She gave his hand a squeeze, aware that the usual physical distance they almost always kept between them was gone. She didn't know how he felt and she knew this new absence of personal space would disappear as soon as they were back home. But for now she simply took advantage of it. Finally finding what she was searching for, Sam pushed her CO against the wall and leaned in close, tucking her shoulder into his chest and sharing what body warmth she could. She reluctantly released his hand as she fumbled with the small packet. Tearing open the outer wrapping, Sam pressed the oblong shape into O'Neill's hands. She wrapped her own fingers around his hand again, rubbing to stimulate the circulation on the outside.

"Carter, I...oh." The Colonel leaned closer as his hands began to warm. "Sweet."

"Can't hold it for too long, Sir, it heats up to about one hundred and sixty-five degrees, but...for now..."

"Good."

Sam, her body still pressed to his to get him as warm as possible, looked around the small room in which they'd hidden themselves. There wasn't much they could use here...unless... She leaned past the Colonel, peering into the shadows. "Sweet," she whispered. Her attention focused on her discovery, she missed the flash of surprise that crossed O'Neill's face at her unconscious adoption of his favorite phrase.

"Sir. I think I found a quicker way out. There's a ring platform here." She looked up at him, slightly startled to find his face so close to her own. "We can, um...use it."

"Carter."

"Sir?"

"When we get out of this, we need to...let's just say that I'd like you to stick around after the next team night."

Sam swallowed, her heart suddenly beating so hard inside her chest she was certain the Colonel would hear it. "Sir?" She was pleased that the word didn't come out as a squeak.

"I think we need to discuss...some stuff."

"Um...yes, Sir." She started to pull away but stopped as he, his hands still wrapped around he chem pack and covered by her own, tugged her back.

"I...thank you for coming after me, Carter. You're... _hot!_ " O'Neill's last word was more like a strangled yelp.

"Sir?" Sam jumped as O'Neill jerked his hands from hers, dropping the chemical heating pack onto a pile of gold-edged robes.

"Ow! Hot! _Hot_!" The Colonel blew on his fingers, then raised an eyebrow to Carter. "You weren't kidding, Carter."

"No, Sir. I wasn't." She quickly checked his hands and then crossed to the ring controls. As O'Neill stepped inside she reached and held out her sidearm. His fingers brushed hers as he took it from her, sending an entirely different kind of shiver through Sam. She punched in the control sequence and quickly moved to join him within the circle etched into the floor. As they waited, back-to-back and weapons at the ready, she glanced over her shoulder at him. "Colonel?" her questioning voice was soft.

"Carter?"

"You're welcome. I know you'd do the same for me."

"You bet your a–" The echoing buzz of the descending rings drowned out O'Neill's words and the two disappeared from the room in a flash of light. Just as quickly as they'd arrived, they were gone, leaving behind an empty room and a now smoking pile of forgotten robes. As explosions begin to rock the building, the smoldering fire sparked and soon there was a small blaze burning where the two officers had been standing.

A blaze just about as big as a campfire.


	2. Out of the Frying Pan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: at end.

  
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A/N: at end.

Set following _Into the Fire_.

 _  
**Warming Up**   
_

Jack O'Neill stretched and leaned back. He rested his back against the low wall behind him, grateful to feel the leftover warmth of the sun seep through his BDU shirt and warm his chilled skin. He fought the shiver that threatened to run down his back, knowing it was more likely psychosomatic than real. He couldn't seem to get warm. Hadn't been able to, really, since their latest encounter with Hathor and her damned freezers. To quell the second chill that hovered he leaned forward and tossed another thick, gnarled log onto the fire then sat back again to watch the sparks swirl up into the night sky.

Two crescent moons met his gaze, one hanging above the other, resembling an odd, lopsided sort of curvy "W" in the night sky. The moons appeared, from his perspective, to be exactly the same size, but Jack knew from Carter's lengthy explanation when they'd first arrived that the upper moon was actually much larger. It was also much farther away. Thus...same size. Jack's lips tipped up into a slight smile as he remembered her explaining it to him just as both moons crested the horizon, one after another, silvery pale in the waning afternoon light.

" _It'll be really great to see, Sir." Carter's eyes sparkled with excitement as they walked. "If I'm right–"_

" _And you usually are."_

" _Yes, Sir." Oblivious, Sam continued. "Anyway, sometime around two in the morning, SGC-time, the moons should line up. It'll be...well, neat."_

" _Neat, Captain?"_

 _Carter stopped as she realized her CO was no longer beside her. She turned to face him, her hat pulled low over her eyes, but not low enough that he couldn't see them. Not low enough to prevent that...twist...he always felt when she met his gaze full-on. They stared at each other for a moment and he idly noted the faint blush creeping up her neck and into her hair. Finally she shrugged and ducked her head. She flashed him a smile._ That _smile. Then she turned away, tossing one last comment over her shoulder. "Yup, Colonel. It'll be neat."_

 _It had taken Jack another full minute to get his racing heart under control before he once again began moving. He jogged to catch up, nudging her shoulder as he did so, then asking her another question to pass the time._

Angling his watch to catch the firelight, Jack shook his head as he noted the time. Zero two hundred, on the nose. Figures. Glancing again at the two moons hovering above, he made a decision. Carter wasn't scheduled for watch tonight, with the shorter nights on this planet he'd gone with a three-person rotation. However, he knew she really wanted to see this. Grunting a little as he rose, Jack rubbed his arms against the chill. He refused to put on his heavier jacket, still convinced that he was imagining the lower temperature.

Gently easing open the ties to their small tent, Jack reached in. He hadn't thought to grab his flashlight, so he hoped she was in the position she normally was when they were offworld. Slowly easing his hand down, his questing fingers finally touched something other than military-issue rip-stop. The silken strands were almost too fine for him to identify at first, but as he reached in farther he found himself tracing Carter's ear. With a slight cough he gave her cheek a gentle tap.

"Carter," he whispered.

"S-sir?"

Her voice heavy with sleep, he could hear her turning, her movements muffled against the fabric of her sleeping bag. She kept her voice low, almost to quiet for him to hear, and he felt a flash of pride at her ability to come awake from a dead sleep and be instantly ready for action. "Shh, it's okay. It's moonshine time, Captain. Wanna come and see?"

"Moonsh–oh." Now she sounded more awake. "Yes, I do. Thanks. I'll be right out."

Jack nodded, even knowing she wouldn't see it in the darkness. He laughed at himself a little. Even if were full daylight she'd have missed it, as his head was still outside the tent. Jack stood and strode back to the fire, adding yet another log to it. Behind him he could hear his Captain getting her boots on. He glanced back over his shoulder and watched as she emerged from the tent, his eyebrows rising as she ducked back inside with a muffled oath.

"Holy Hannah, it's _cold_ out here, Colonel!" Her voice still low, it nevertheless carried across their campsite.

Jack returned to his seat, his arms crossed tightly across his chest. "Is it? I Hadn't noticed," he lied.

Carter studied him for a moment before ducking inside the tent once again. This time she emerged with his jacket in her hands. She silently handed it to him as she joined him on the log he'd placed against the wall. "Sir, put this on, please?"

Jack took the jacket from her and laid it across his lap. He didn't know why this was such an issue with him, but for some reason he was simply determined to not give into the chills that ran through his body. Beside him, Carter leaned back, the log was small enough that her arm and shoulder against his as she moved. She leaned back and watched the two moons, her expression pensive. Jack watched her out of the corner of his eye, secretly enjoying their quiet moment alone.

"I, um, wasn't sure if you wanted me to wake you...you know. For this."

"Hmm." Carter's response was faint, she sounded distracted. After a minute she sighed and stretched her legs out toward the fire. "Thanks, Sir. I'm glad you did." She absently picked up the mug that was resting near the fire and took a sip, apparently unaware that she was, in fact, drinking Jack's coffee. She held the mug in her hands, warming her fingers, and stared thoughtfully into the its depths.

"My coffee that bad, Carter?"

"Hmm? Oh, I'm sorry, Colonel. Habit, I guess. I can make you some–"

Waving her off, Jack shrugged. The motion opened the back of his collar and a draft of cold air blew in, causing another involuntary shiver.

"Sir?"

"Carter?"

"I'm cold. Would you mind putting on your jacket?"

Jack turned to stare at her. "I'm sorry?"

Carter lifted a shoulder and tilted her head. "I can't explain it, it just makes sense. To me. Please, Colonel." As if to emphasize her point, Sam's body shook in a shiver all its own.

He kept his eyes on hers as he slowly slipped his arms into the cool sleeves of the heavy duty jacket. Immediately his own chills began to subside and when he looked over at her he saw that she, too, looked more comfortable. Unsure of what to make of that, Jack fiddled with the zipper on the green jacket, finally getting it to catch and pulling it to about midway up his chest. He leaned and nudged her, then, enjoying the added warmth, maintained the contact. "Better?"

"Yes."

"Great." O'Neill's jaw tightened as he studied her, his gaze flickering over her profile. Once again she'd tilted her head and was watching the moons slide across the night sky. He wondered if now would be a good time. They'd not had a lot of downtime following their encounter with Hathor and he'd never had the chance to have the...talk...he'd wanted to. Watching her now, he decided that this was as good a time as any. Softly he broke the silence. "Carter...how'd you get Makepeace to agree to let you come back?"

Jack was startled to see his Second's head jerk, to feel her pull herself away from contact with him. He reached out and deliberately pulled her back until once again he could feel her warmth against his arm. "Oh no. Now that I'm warm, you have to stay. I don't think I've been warm since we left that godforsaken place."

"Yes, Sir." Carter's broken whisper was tugged away on the night wind.

"Carter? You okay?" He waited, then asked again. "You gonna answer my question?"

Carter let out a deep sigh. "Yes, Sir. I...it's just...I'm not sure how to say this, Sir."

"How to say..." Jack waited another moment. Finally he blew out a breath and forged ahead. "How to tell your CO that you blew off the orders of another SG team leader? A senior officer at that? How to say that you, with complete and utter disregard for your own safety–not to mention the safety of the SGC and Earth–knowingly put yourself in harm's way? And you did so for someone whom you saw, whom you _knew_ to be host to a Goa'uld?"

With his first question Carter had turned to face him. With each subsequent question, every one asked in the same low, quiet tone as the first, she visibly flinched. Despite that physical reaction, she kept her eyes on his, her jaw set. When he was finished she lifted her chin slightly, just enough to show determination but not high enough to be considered defiant. "Yes, Sir. That would be what I'm finding it hard to say."

"Then you should probably hear the rest of it." Jack watched as she closed her eyes and visibly steeled herself for more. When she opened them again, her gaze was once again unwaveringly fixed on his face and, if possible, her jaw set even more firmly than before. "When Makepeace cornered me in SG-1's locker room, demanding that you be written up for 'failure to comply,' 'disobeying a direct order,' and whatever the hell else he could think of, I had a few questions of my own. Wanna hear them?"

Carter could only nod, she seemed unable to tear her gaze away. Her blue eyes shimmered in the firelight and Jack prayed that he wasn't seeing the beginnings of a tear hovering. God, he hoped not. He kept his eyes on hers as he continued. "I asked him how he could live with himself, leaving a team member behind? What the hell kind of a team leader was he? How _exactly_ had he phrased his order that you not return for me? And lastly I asked him how he thought he was going to get his ass out of the situation he'd found himself in if my, and I'm quoting the good Colonel here, 'lunatic Jack O'Neill wannabe Second' hadn't been there to save it?"

"Oh."

"So, Carter. I'm going to ask you again. How did you get Makepeace to agree to your going back?"

"I didn't, Sir. I lied." Still holding his gaze, she offered a faint, very faint, smile. "Well, not so much lied as...stretched the truth."

"Stretched the..." Jack blew out a breath. "Look, Carter. Captain. I need to ask you this, point blank. Did you at any time defy a direct order not to return to find me?"

"No, Sir. I did not." She faced him squarely, her eyes clear and firm, her expression open for him to read.

"Okay." He held her gaze for a long moment, then broke their connection and looked away, his eyes on the fire.

"But I would have." Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper. A confession. A promise.

Jack just closed his eyes and slowly shook his head. He knew that. Knew it without her saying it. It was why she was on his team. Why he was on hers. Why Daniel and Teal'c were too, for that matter. It's what they did. They were a team. A family. And so much more. Once again his thoughts drifted back to that mockery of his SGC.

" _...I regret to inform you that everyone on your team…Dr Daniel Jackson, Captain Samantha Carter, and a Jaffa named Teal'c, are all deceased."_

He shook his head harder, opening his eyes and fighting down the nausea that swamped him with the memory of that voice. Those words.

" _...They didn't make it...Their bodies were sent back, but they were already dead."_

"They told me you were dead." Jack shuddered. "All of you. Dead."

"Yes, Sir. Me too. I was..." Carter turned her head, blinking back tears. She bit back a whimper similar to the one she'd uttered when the woman she now knew to be a Tok'ra had told her.

"Yeah."

"Sir?"

"Sam?"

Carter sat forward, angling her head to meet his gaze. "I'm...I don't know how to say this part, so I'm just going to talk, okay? Can you...would you wait until I'm finished?"

Jack nodded. It appeared that she was going to do the hard part and for that Jack was grateful. He'd been struggling with how to talk about this with her, how to address...this.

"Colonel. I...wow, this is harder than I thought." This time it was Carter who lifted the wood onto the fire, who poked and fiddled until it was burning just right. "I...I had to go back, Colonel. It wasn't just our thing, you know. The 'don't leave someone behind' thing. It was, it _is_ , that..." Sam tossed her stick aside and turned to face him. "Okay, Colonel. Here it is. I'm taking you at your word. About our "safe zone" thing, okay? I just need to get this off my chest."

Carter looked down for a moment, then up at him again. Jack could feel how nervous she was, could see the beginnings of fear creeping into her eyes. As she drew breath to continue he stopped her. "I know I promised to hear you out, but...wait, Carter. Just...wait." Jack laid his hand on her arm, stilling her. She shouldn't be the one doing this, taking this chance. "I'm the one who wanted this...discussion, so let me, okay?" At her grateful nod he took his own fortifying breath. "When Hathor put the..." He shuddered and automatically rubbed the still healing scar on the back of his neck. "You know. Anyway. I...when she put it there, the last thing I could see was...well, was you. You refused to look away. I wanted you to, you know. A part of me really wanted to look away. So you wouldn't see. The other part of me...that part that...that...I needed you to keep watching. I held onto that. To...you."

The fire popped, making them both jump. Jack shook his head and continued. Once he'd started it was easier than he thought it would be. He sought and held her gaze, watching her every reaction, waiting for...what he wasn't sure. "Then...later. When you opened up the pod...I really don't remember much. I remember sort of looking up and seeing Hathor. I waited for her to yell at me but then realized she was focused on something. Someone. You. Then you were on the floor and all I could think was, 'oh my God, Sam's dead.' And..." Now Jack looked away. He looked down, surprised to feel her hand, warm on his, her fingers tangled with his own. "It was probably really, _really_ out of line, but I needed...just then...needed to... _feel_...you. Sam. I...it wasn't that I was cold. Or," he smiled ruefully, " _just_ cold. I was sure you were gone, then you weren't. You were there."

"I was there." Carter squeezed his hand and then leaned back, pulling him with her. She rested her head against his shoulder, keeping his hand in hers. "I...Sir, I couldn't just...leave. I had decided that if I couldn't find you, I would...well... Doesn't matter, I found you."

"You did."

"I'd do it again, you know."

"I do." Jack pushed out a deep breath and twisted his hand around so that her fingers were tangled in his own. He squeezed those fingers, pressing his palm to hers. This was dangerous, he knew. The warmth of her hand in his took him back, and for a moment he was lost in the memory. Her shaking body pulled so tightly against his shivering one that he wasn't certain where either ended, her arms wound tightly around his waist, her fingers pulling at the fabric on his shoulders because her fists were tangled to tightly in the fabric, the smell of her as his senses slowly returned; the smell of her fear and the scent of her skin. The slow, tingling warmth that spread through him as she held him close, both of them fighting to get closer just as they fought to breathe. He fought the memory down, concentrating instead on what was here. Now. "Same goes."

Carter shifted her grip, reaching for his left hand and pulling it across his lap so that she could wrap her hands around both of his. For just a second, as his hand lost contact with hers, he felt that cold slide through him again and he shivered. Carter tilted her head up, keeping her cheek on his shoulder, her eyes dark with concern. "Warm enough?"

Knowing full well he was pushing that intangible line further and further from its starting point, Jack eased his right hand free, opened his jacket and pulled her hands inside with his. Placing her hands against his stomach, he covered them again with is own. He turned and slid his other arm around her, pulling her close and tucking her chin under his. "I am now." Jack breathed in the scent of her, that slightly sweet shampoo scent mixed with woodsmoke that was truly the Sam-Carter-offworld scent.

"Carter, you know this isn't...um..."

"Yes. I know." She slid her arm deeper into his jacket to circle his waist.

"We're okay with this?" He tightened his arm around her.

"We are."

End.

Afterword: I'm really trying to keep in canon here. Some of the humor and closeness we see in future episodes really began with _Into the Fire_ , I think. I also firmly believe that Sam and Jack, at one point or another, obliquely or directly, addressed the growing feelings they have for each other. And they did so before _Divide and Conquer._


	3. Balance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This seems to have become the longest Campfire yet – how odd considering that this proved to be especially difficult to write. I really wanted a Sam story but Jack kept poking his head in. My thanks to Leiasky and Kathryn Shadow for their beta work and comments. Your efforts made this a much better story, ladies. Thank you. I do enjoy reading your feedback and comments. Thank you.

  
Share   


  
  
  
  
  
  
  


A/N: This seems to have become the longest Campfire yet – how odd considering that this proved to be especially difficult to write. I really wanted a Sam story but Jack kept poking his head in. My thanks to Leiasky and Kathryn Shadow for their beta work and comments. Your efforts made this a much better story, ladies. Thank you. I do enjoy reading your feedback and comments. Thank you.

Set following _Seth_.

 _  
**Balance**   
_

Sam shifted uncomfortably on the low couch. The movie was still playing but the volume on the TV had been lowered after Daniel dropped off to sleep. She tilted her head and studied him, their archaeologist-cum-soldier. She was proud of him, she realized. Justifiably so. Since becoming a team a little over two years ago they'd all changed so much, but she was sure it was Daniel who'd changed the most. He'd been so . . . innocent . . . when she'd first met him on Abydos. So eager and welcoming. Then later, so . . . lost. Her heart ached for him still, knowing that he—despite outward appearances—still desperately missed his wife. She, Sha-ré, had now been gone for nearly two years longer than Daniel had been married to her, but Sam knew he still mourned.

If only rescuing Sha-ré from Apophis' grip could be as easy as had been rescuing young Tom Levinson from Seth's cult. They'd researched it, found his compound, done a standard recon, gone in and . . . job done. Well, job done after stepping on some federal toes, but . . . job done, typical SG-1 style. Only . . . Sam suppressed a shudder. Okay . . . so it hadn't been _that_ simple. She shook her head and surveyed the darkened room. Daniel had nearly melted into the large leather chair in the corner, his head lolling ungracefully to one side and his snores slowly increasing in volume. Teal'c had long since moved into the small den off of the living room, claiming the need for kel-no-reem, leaving her on one end of the couch and O'Neill on the other. Glancing again at the screen, Sam saw that Dorothy was slowly falling asleep in the large meadow, having strayed from the yellow brick road. _Watch it, Dorothy_ , she thought. _The path's there for a reason._

After a while she sighed again and finally gave up on the movie. Gathering a handful of empties, she headed toward the kitchen, noting that despite his having chosen his favorite movie for team night, O'Neill was dozing on his end of the couch. Sam moved through the kitchen with a familiar ease, more comfortable here, truth be told, than she was in her own. She left the overhead lights off, choosing instead to feel her way in the near darkness. She poured out the remainders in their bottles and set them in the recycling bin at the end of the counter. Crossing her arms across her chest, she stepped closer to the large sliding glass doors, wishing it was warm enough that she could slip out and look at the stars. Not that there would be any to see. Sam leaned forward and pressed her head to the glass and watched the rain continue to pour down from the heavens, her breath fanning out to steam the glass near her nose and mouth.

She'd always loved the rain, but . . . not tonight. Tonight she could have used some bright and beautiful stars. She'd been looking forward to some quiet time. To losing herself in a book. Or a bubble bath. But the Colonel had had other ideas.

 _Sam slowly lowered her arm, staring in stunned amazement at the body of Seth where it lay crumpled against the subterranean wall. She looked down at her hand, her gaze almost bemused as she realized that_ she _had done this. With just the power of her mind, she'd . . . Oh my God! She'd killed him. With just a . . . thought!_

 _Sick with the dawning realization of the power she held—quite literally—in the palm of her hand, Sam fumbled with the Goa-uld hand device, desperate to remove it. She turned to find O'Neill's equally stunned gaze on her. She watched as his glance flicked past her to the remains of the centuries-old Goa-uld. His eyes were wide as he met her gaze, his voice tinged with awe._

" _Hail, Dorothy."_

 _At his words, Sam's world crumpled. Oh, God. How . . . how could she have done it? She was no better than . . . them. They who used these things—and she finally yanked her fingers free—for the torture and subjugation of others._

" _Captain." O'Neill's voice jarred her, rubbing against her already raw nerves. "Let's get the rest of these people out of here."_

 _And just like that, Sam turned it off. She shoved the fear, anger, revulsion down . . . deep, deep down, as far as she could. She had work to do._

 _She could hate herself later._

 _The mop-up was left to the feds and O'Neill had wasted no time in getting his team back to Cheyenne. Once there he'd declared tonight a 'team night' and practically ordered them all to his place._

"Carter? You okay?" O'Neill's low voice pulled her from her from her memories.

Sam sighed softly and rocked back onto her heels, realizing she was cold in the dark kitchen. She had no idea how long she'd been leaning against the patio door, but her forehead, when she lifted it from the pane, felt like ice. She turned to find him leaning in the kitchen doorway, his hands in the pockets of his cargo pants, shirt as rumpled as his hair, and his white socked feet explaining why she hadn't heard him approach. She offered him a wan smile she wasn't sure he would even see in the darkened kitchen and nodded. "Yes, Sir. I'm good. Just . . . you know."

O'Neill stepped closer, his eyes not leaving hers. Sam slipped her own eyes closed as he neared her, afraid of what he might see when he got close. She half-turned away from him and returned her attention to the downpour outside. Trying for a light tone, she said, "It's really coming down out there."

"It is." O'Neill moved to stand next to her, his arm brushing hers. "I'd hoped to light a fire outside tonight." He paused, and Sam felt more than saw him turn to study her. "I thought you might . . . well, I thought it'd be nice."

"It would have been." Sam's voice was barely a whisper in the darkness, not enough force behind it even to steam the large pane of glass shielding them from the blowing elements outside.

"Carter."

Sam bit back a small sob, the gentle concern in his voice doing more to breach her defenses than any commands or loud words ever could. She fought another wave of fear and self-loathing, clenching her jaw with an effort to keep it all in. She sucked in a long breath, trying to regain control of her suddenly raging emotions. God, she'd killed today with just her _mind_! What _else_ could she do? What other abilities had Jolinar left her? Or taken from her? Determinedly keeping her gaze fixed sightlessly on the sheets of rain rippling in waves against the window, Sam hid her eyes from his. As afraid as she was of what she could now do, she was more afraid of seeing her feelings reflected in O'Neill's gaze.

It was bad enough that she was afraid of what she could do, she didn't think she could bear it if he was afraid of her too. His words, spoken mostly in jest, as they'd stood over Seth's body, had taken on a life of their own in her mind. Sam was convinced that he—and perhaps Daniel too—were wondering if someday she'd turn her newly discovered powers on them. Or worse.

O'Neill blew out a loud breath, startling them both. He reached out and wrapped a warm hand around Sam's elbow, pulling her away from the window and toward him. "Sam. Let's go."

Her mind tangled in a swirling whirlpool of out-of-control emotions, Sam didn't protest as he led her back into the living room. Once there he gently pushed her down to sit on the cushions he'd piled in front of the couch. When she was seated he picked up a worn quilt and wrapped it around her from the front, tucking it behind her, pinning the fabric between her body and the couch.

The Colonel stepped over to the fireplace and Sam saw that he'd lit a roaring fire while she'd been in the kitchen. She slowly blinked and looked around, realizing that she and the Colonel were alone in the room.

"Daniel?"

"I asked Teal'c to help him into bed. He's out cold in the guest room." The Colonel stood for a moment, absently ruffling a hand through his hair as he gazed down at her. "Don't move," he ordered gently. "I'll be right back."

Sam nodded and turned her attention to the fire, appreciating the effort he'd taken to light it. The bright flames chased away the lingering chill on her skin after spending so much time against the patio doors. Snug under the faded quilt she felt herself begin to relax. For the first time since they'd returned from Montana she felt the maelstrom of her thoughts begin to settle.

O'Neill returned with two steaming cups in his hands. As he eased down beside her, he handed her a large white ceramic mug, his fingers trailing along hers as she took it from him. The lettering on the side was fading slightly from repeated washings, but the words, "It's Not Exactly Rocket Surgery," never failed to bring a slight smile to her lips. O'Neill had presented her with the mug on her birthday last year and when she'd accidentally left it here after the party, he insisted she use only that one whenever she was here.

"Tea?"

"Hot chocolate."

"Even better. Thanks."

"No problem." O'Neill leaned back beside her, sipping a drink Sam knew would be coffee, despite the lateness of the hour. Finally he asked her, "You gonna tell me what's going on in there?" He waved vaguely toward her head.

"Sir?"

The Colonel faced her and set his mug aside. He turned and rested his elbow on the couch seat behind him, his hand dangling down and barely brushing her shoulder. "C'mon, Carter. You've barely looked at me since we got back this morning. You were short with Dad, downright rude to Daniel, and you didn't eat much tonight, despite forcing me to order a pizza with, and I quote, 'extra sliced tomatoes and fresh basil.'" He paused and shuddered dramatically, then tapped her on the shoulder, silently asking her to turn to face him. "So, using my stunning powers of deduction I have to eliminate the possible causes for your . . . upsetness. The company, the food, or the movie. Can't be the company," he quirked a small smile at her, and she could see he was doing his best to be charming. "The food's the same as it always is, and _nobody_ can dislike this movie. It's a classic." He shrugged again. "Gotta be something else, then."

Sam sighed and tried a little prevarication. "Actually . . . yes. I mean, no, Sir. It's the movie. I've always hated this movie."

"You're . . . you . . . what?"

From the expression on his face, Sam didn't think she could have shocked him more had she announced that she was leaving the SGC to join the Church. Offering him a slight smile, she continued, glad her distraction seemed to have worked. "The _Wizard of Oz_ , Colonel. I've never liked it." _And now I_ really _don't like it_ , she added silently.

"What's not to like? You've got munchkins, a lost little girl with great sidekicks, a rainbow and . . . and . . . even a dog!" O'Neill's indignation was clear as he stared at her disbelievingly.

"And flying monkeys, scary guards with spikes, evil witches who lock you up . . . " Grimacing apologetically, Sam shrugged.

"Oh my."

"What can I say, Colonel? I've never understood its appeal. I've never really even seen the thing all the way through. When I was a kid I would duck out when the flying monkeys came on."

"Tonight you left when they all said, 'Hail, Dorothy,'" O'Neill said quietly, his dark eyes intent on hers, all lightness gone from his tone.

"I . . . I thought you were asleep."

"Nah." Now O'Neill shifted his arm along the couch cushion to let his hand drop to her shoulder and stay there. "I'm sorry, Carter. For saying that to you. I was just so . . . damn. What you did . . . " He shook his head and looked away.

 _Oh shit. Shitshitshitshit. I knew it._ Sam panicked and started babbling, and she scrambled to reassure him. "I know, Sir. I'll try to get control. I won't let it get out of—"

"Oh hell, Carter," O'Neill interrupted, whipping his head around. "I know _that._ I'm just—" He stopped suddenly and stared, his focus so intent that it unnerved her. "Oh." He lightly shook the shoulder beneath his hand to get her attention. "For cryin' out loud, Carter. Is _that_ what's been eating at you? You think I'm afraid that . . . that I'm _afraid_ of you?"

Sam, her blue eyes suddenly filling with tears, could only nod. Where before she'd been afraid to meet his gaze now she didn't want to break that link with him. Sam felt his hand tighten again on her shoulder and she found that she needed that connection with him to continue. Her voice barely above a whisper she said, "You should be."

"Are you _nuts_?" Clearly angry, O'Neill swiveled his body around to face her completely, startling her as he grabbed both of her shoulders and yanked her around to face him. He immediately gentled his movements when she flinched and pulled back. "Jesus, Sam. How on Earth could you . . . oh crap. You know, for someone so impossibly brilliant you sure can get it spectacularly wrong sometimes." He released her and leaned sideways against on the couch, resting his arm on the cushions and dragging his fingers through his hair in frustration.

Sam forced herself to relax as she mimicked his pose. She sat with her legs folded between them, her left arm resting on the couch and her right warm from the still-blazing fire. The quilt had slipped off of her shoulders at the Colonel's sudden movement and she made no move to adjust it. Between the fire and the hot chocolate she was warming up fast. _That and the proximity of a certain Colonel_ , she thought, but quickly shoved that aside. Sam watched as O'Neill unclenched his hand to retrieve his coffee. Deciding he wasn't going to be making more sudden moves anytime soon, she retrieved her hot chocolate and continued sipping, giving him time to say what he clearly wanted to say.

"Sam." O'Neill carefully set aside his coffee again, clasped his hands together, and deliberately placed them in his lap. He waited as she placed her own drink on the coffee table and then met his gaze. "I. You. Damn it. _Carter_ , how the hell could you think I'd ever be afraid of _you_?"

She could hear the frustration in his voice rapidly giving way to anger. She didn't want him mad at her, she needed him to understand. Swallowing hard she looked away, struggling to articulate what had been strangling her all day. Pushing the words past the lump in her throat she muttered, "I . . . I killed him, Colonel."

"And?"

Sam frowned. That wasn't what she'd expected him to say. And, she realized, he was right. It's not like the man whose compound they'd infiltrated was the first man she'd killed. But . . . that was different. That was battle. Today was . . . was . . . it just _was._ Clearly she hadn't explained herself because he didn't get it. "Colonel. I killed him . . . with my _mind_!"

"No you didn't."

Sam's double-take would have been funny had they been talking about something lighter. She shook her head slightly, not sure if she'd heard him correctly. "Yes, I did."

"No. You didn't."

"Sir." Sam stopped and frowned at him. Now she understood what Daniel felt like during one of his and the Colonel's infamous conversations. "Yes. I. Did." She enunciated each word clearly, some of her own anger leaking through the fear. She tapped her chest. "I was there."

"So was I." The Colonel leaned forward and tapped his own as he spoke, then reached and enfolded her hands in his. "Carter. I'll be the first to admit that you have one hell of a mind. But," he held up a finger to stop her protest. "Your mind . . . amazing as it is, isn't what killed the Goa'uld." He squeezed her hands. "It was the hand-device that did the killing." O'Neill stopped and then tried again. "Look, Carter. If you had been holding a gun and decided to kill him, would that be different than what you did today?"

"Of course it would."

"How?"

"Because I . . . because the . . . deadly force . . . I used would have come from gun, but not my mind." She had to make him see the difference.

"But, when you're holding a gun, it's your mind that decides to tell you to squeeze the trigger."

"Well, yes, but . . . " Sam trailed off, nonplussed.

"So . . . how is that different?"

"It . . . it . . . it just _is_ , Colonel.

"Carter. You . . . through Jolinar . . . you've been . . . changed. You've been given a new . . . weapon, if you will. Another way for us to fight back. It wasn't your choice, and it wasn't your fault. But it happened. What you do with what you got is up to you."

"Colonel." Sam bit her lip and dropped her gaze. She bit back the tears that threatened to spill over. "I have no way of knowing just _what_ my experience with Jolinar has done to me . . . permanently. Today was just one example of what she left in me. What she made me. Who knows if I'll ever have . . . well, who knows?" She finished lamely, and looked up at him again, refusing to think about the many, many things she didn't know about Jolinar's effect on her body.

"Carte, I _hate_ what happened to you. I hate that one of those snake-heads got to us. Got to _you_." He closed his eyes for a second, clearly reliving his experience with the Tok'ra possessed Carter. This time it was Sam who squeezed his hands in support. "But . . . there's nobody else on this planet . . . .hell, Carter. In this _galaxy_ that I'd trust more with that kind of power. That kind of knowledge."

"Thank you, Colonel." Sam whispered. "But . . . "

"Ah!" Again he held up a hand to stop her. "No 'buts,' Carter. None." He tightened his grip on her hands and lifted them off of her lap, running his thumb over her knuckles on before releasing them. "You're not alone, you know. You don't have to 'control it,' as you said . . . not on your own. We . . . me, Daniel. Teal'c. Fraiser and Cassie. Hammond. Siler and what's his name, the gate guy?"

"Harriman."

"Really? I always thought his name was Davis. Anyway, yeah, him too." He smiled at her and turned again to face the fireplace. As she, too, turned he leaned forward and added another log. Catching her eye again he spoke softly, his expression serious once again. "I know it happened _to_ you, Sam, and I'm not trying to make light of that. Really. But . . . you need to understand that none of us are afraid of _you_. Or what you'll do with your new . . . superpowers. I'm more afra . . . " O'Neill stopped and cleared his suddenly husky throat. He tried again to speak and again had to stop.

Sam bent forward and caught his eye. "You're more afraid of . . . what, Sir?" It was dark in the room, the only light coming from the fireplace. For a brief second Sam was certain she saw the shine of tears in her CO's eyes, but just as quickly dismissed the possibility. "Colonel? You okay?"

"Yeah." His voice gruff, O'Neill spoke again. "Carter. Let's consider this," he gestured toward the fireplace, "one of our campfires, okay?" When she nodded he continued. "I . . . I know this is over that line, Captain, but . . . "

"But?" Sam leaned back again, her arm brushing his. She let herself enjoy the brief contact. After all . . . this _was_ a campfire, wasn't it? Sort of?

"You'd tell me, wouldn't you?"

"Tell you?"

O'Neill looked uncomfortable and for a moment Sam forgot her own fear and worry, concentrating instead on him. She wasn't used to seeing him at a loss for words. Affected confusion sometimes, but never truly unable to form words.

"If you . . . " He stopped, then gave a brisk shake of his head. "Never mind."

"No, Sir. Remember? There's no 'never mind' allowed. At least not at our fires." She lifted her knees up and turned her head to rest her chin atop them, her eyes fixed on his. The fear and anger that had shadowed her since she'd killed Seth seemed to be fading.

It helped, she realized. Helped to talk about it, and especially with him. The fact that he'd reacted so strongly to her idea that he'd be afraid of her . . . his natural and honest response had more of an impact upon her than just the words. It also helped that talking about it with him brought up something about which he was concerned. That gave Sam something on which to focus, something outside of herself.

That's what they did for each other, she suddenly realized.

He kept her from losing herself. He . . . he anchored her. Sure, Janet, Daniel, Cassie, and Teal'c were there for her, but what she felt for O'Neill went beyond that deep friendship—that love of family—to something more. Something almost concrete for which she could reach and hold onto when she felt she was drowning, as she was now.

From the day her father had walked in, his face a mask of grief and sorrow, to tell her that her mother was dead, Sam had been on her own. Her coping method for anything truly stressful had always been to escape inside of her own mind, to close herself off from the outside world and concentrate instead on the theoretical. The impossible. Lately, however, she'd found it harder and harder to return to the real world. It was often easier just to keep the outside world out and focus her brain on what so many would never understand.

Now, though . . . she studied his profile as he looked away and turned his attention to the fire. For the first time in her life Sam realized that she really _didn't_ have to do it all alone. Others had told her that and meant it, she was sure. But . . . sitting here, perched on pillows in front of a couch, a blazing fire in the fireplace and a well-loved quilt covering her, it became real for her. He was offering a hand, it was up to her to reach out to take it.

Sam suddenly felt as if her world had opened up. Like a burst of light and sound she found herself overwhelmed by the realization that of all of the people in her life—past and present—it was this man, the one man she should never want, who would be her balance. To provide her with that all-too-necessary grounding to the world in which she must function.

Overwhelmed by it all, Sam slowly breathed in, taking in the scent of the burning wood mixed with the smells of the Colonel's home. The homey, slightly dusty aroma that was always so comforting to her, overlaid by the closer, stronger layer of his aftershave hovering so near. She glanced around, amazed that the room was as it had been before. A fire still burned brightly in the fireplace, the tumultuous storm outside still blew rain in waves against the large picture window, and Colonel O'Neill still sat beside her, still lost in his own thoughts. A small muscle twitched along his jaw, betraying his own internal struggle and she found herself suppressing the urge to reach out and caress that tenseness away.

Sam inhaled again and closed her eyes to steady herself. She had realized something profound—about herself and about the importance in her life of the man beside her—and despite that newfound knowledge, she realized that outwardly nothing had changed. He was still who he was and she who she had been when she'd arrived. An Air Force officer capable of more terrible things than her government had ever dreamed. Sam slowly blinked her eyes open and found herself looking into his tawny brown gaze. Yes, she was the same Sam Carter who'd walked in the door. Now, however . . . now she didn't have to be alone, not if she didn't want to.

It was up to her.

Suddenly, Sam wasn't afraid anymore.

But . . . how to take that hand? How . . . Head still resting atop her knees, Sam could see him still thinking hard about something. Maybe it was as easy as responding in kind. "Sir? " Sam prompted him softly. "You gonna tell me what's on your mind?" Her words were an echo of his earlier request to her, conscious mirroring of his reaching out to her.

When O'Neill spoke, his words were low, his tone uncertain. "Sam, I would . . . you'd tell me, you know, if you find out any more things? I mean, that Jolinar did to you."

"Why?" She felt him sigh against her cheek, her head rising and falling with his movement.

"How about 'just because'?"

"Um . . . no. I don't think that's a reason, Sir."

"Oh."

"Then . . . can you live with 'because it's . . . _you're_ . . . important to me'?"

Long, quiet moments slipped by as Sam turned his words over and over in her head, the quiet sincerity in his voice slowly working to still the dissonant thoughts in her head. As her thoughts settled she took a mental step back and looked at the two of them—him seated with his back to the couch and his eyes on the fire, she beside him, watching him—for a moment she felt almost as if she were across the room observing an experiment. Regardless of their own understanding that these little fireside interludes shouldn't happen—couldn't happen—they seemed to happen with surprising regularity. And, Sam knew, in spite of the innocence of their current positions they'd be hard-pressed to justify this, or their growing comfort with one another, to those who made it their business to care. Her Colonel's words echoed through her thoughts, _"Then . . . can you live with 'because it's . . . you're . . . important to me?"_

Sam slid sideways to slowly and carefully rest her head on his shoulder. O'Neill kept his hands in his lap, but she felt him lean into her slightly. Shifting a little, she rubbed her cheek against the rough fabric of his shirt until she'd found the best spot. She took a deep breath and slowly let out a long, quiet sigh. And, as she sat curled up beside him with her head atop his shoulder and her bent knees resting against his, safe from the storm raging outside and the smaller one within, Sam decided. "Yes. I can live with that."

End.


	4. Yin and Yang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks to Cags for the flash read-through and comments. As always, input makes the writing better. I do enjoy reading your feedback and comments. Thank you.

  
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A/N: Thanks to Cags for the flash read-through and comments. As always, input makes the writing better. I do enjoy reading your feedback and comments. Thank you.

Set during and after _Fair Game_ , the latter bit on a planet of my own choosing.

 _  
**Yin and Yang**   
_

Earth

Colorado Springs, CO

Colonel Jack O'Neill's Home

0708 SGCS (SGC Standard Time)

Colonel Jack O'Neill checked his watch for the umpteenth time and grumbled under his breath. _Where in the hell_ was _she?_ Slipping his hand into the pocket of his trousers he fingered the slightly worn gold oak leaves, making sure neither had worked free of the hankie to which he'd clasped them this morning. Hammond's call had caught him just before he'd left the house, and Jack was glad their CO had managed to reach him.

" _O'Neill," he barked into his cell phone, not even bothering to check the caller's ID._

" _Colonel."_

" _Sir." Jack stopped in his tracks, one hand the knob of the front door, the other holding the phone. There was no reason for Hammond to call him at home unless there was an emergency, especially considering that he was sure the General knew that Jack would already be enroute to the base at this time of the morning. Unless . . . Jack's heart stuttered for a moment. Carter was due back today, she was flying back with her . . . "Ah, General. Everything okay?"_

" _Yes. I just wanted to give you a little heads-up, Jack. SecDef will be in-house this morning, so make sure your service dress is handy. No excuses. Also, Captain Carter's, or I should say,_ Major _Carter's promotion came through. Just got the paperwork in the morning's DC packet. Thought you'd want to know."_

 _Jack's dismay at having to don his dreaded service dress was significantly allayed by the news that Carter's well-deserved promotion had finally come through. He'd been pushing for over a year to have her grade increased, she'd long since passed the time-in-grade requirements. "Thank you, General, that's good news. At least the part about Carter. I assume no new orders came with her promotion?" Jack could hear Hammond's chuckle over the phone as he headed back to his bedroom to pull his freshly dry-cleaned service dress out of the closet._

" _You assume correctly, Colonel. The President and SecDef see no reason to change the status quo." There was a pause, then Hammond added, "Neither do I."_

" _Great." Jack paused before leaving the room, then turned back to his dresser. He slid open the top of a small wooden chest and glanced inside. Thoughtfully fingering the worn-but-still-serviceable gold oak leaves nestled against the velvet lining, he asked, "General? Would you mind if I provided the Major with her new insignia?"_

 _Again Hammond chuckled. "I thought you might like to, Jack. I'll see you in ninety minutes in the gateroom. Don't be late."_

Jack snorted as he checked his watch again. _'Don't be late,' he tells me. Hmph._ I'm _not the one who's behind the clock this morning!_ Finally giving up the restless—and fruitless—pacing of his office, Jack opened the door and strode down the corridor toward the gateroom. So focused was he on thinking up a good cover for Carter's being late that he didn't register her presence on the ramp next to Teal'c until he was a good ten paces inside the room.

Hammond didn't say a word as he entered, merely giving Jack a look that rivaled those given by Teal'c when he was annoyed. Jack did his best to avoid direct eye contact with his CO for the remainder of the ceremony, only looking directly at him when Hammond announced Carter's promotion and indicated that he, Jack, should help him do the honors. As he pinned her new rank insignia to her shoulders, he wondered how long it would take Carter to figure out that the small, golden oak leaves were far from new.

S J S J S J S J S J S J S J S J

P7D-883

10.2k NNE of Stargate

2042 SGCS (8:42 PM)

One Week Later

"Sorry we had to pull you back from leave, Carter." Jack sat back and crossed his arms behind his head.

"That's okay, Sir. We'd pretty much exhausted our conversation topics an hour or so after I got there."

"That bad, huh?"

Carter shrugged. "No too bad, I guess. It's just . . . we don't have much in common, Mark and I, you know?"

O'Neill didn't know, but he offered an empathetic grunt in response. He arched his back, stretching the tired muscles as he settled more deeply into his seat, and lazily watched as the last rays of the setting sun painted the valley in deep purples and yellows. He knew that if he asked, Carter would tell him—in great and sometimes excruciating detail—just why it was the sky on this planet was purple and yellow at sunset, but Jack couldn't bring himself to break the gentle silence of the early evening.

Teal'c nodded as he walked past carrying a rather large pile of wood in his enormous arms. Jack raised an eyebrow in surprise. It wasn't really that cold on the planet, and he was pretty certain Carter had said it wouldn't get much darker that it was now, due to the planet's sun's reflection on the spectacularly large moon that was just now clearing the horizon. "T?"

"O'Neill."

"Not that I don't applaud a little initiative, but . . . do you really think we need a fire tonight?"

"I do not."

Beside him Carter stifled a giggle at the Jaffa's somewhat abrupt response. Jack turned and gave her a mock glare of warning before addressing Teal'c again. "Oh...kay." He glanced over at Daniel who merely gave him a shrug before turning back to his journal. "Let's try this again," he muttered. "Teal'c, buddy. If you don't think we need a fire, _why_ are you building one?"

"Is it not tradition, O'Neill? When we are offworld we have a fire. We are offworld. Therefore, we will have a fire."

This time Carter was unsuccessful at holding back her snort of laughter and, Jack noted, even Daniel was biting his lip as he continued to write. Jack looked at Carter and raised his hands in defeat. "You can't argue with that kind of logic, can you?"

Jack could have sworn he heard a hint of laughter in Teal'c's voice as he replied, "Indeed, O'Neill. You cannot."

As Teal'c built his fire, Jack watched as his Second, now his _Major_ , settled herself beside him. Instead of pulling out her laptop as he expected, she began rummaging in her bag, muttering quietly to herself as she fished around inside for whatever it was she was looking for. Pulling his gaze from her, Jack watched as Teal'c finished laying out his stone ring and began stacking the logs for the fire. Once he'd arranged them just-so, he reached inside his pocket and pulled out the small fire-starters they used when offworld. Teal'c efficiently lit the small peat stick and quickly laid it inside of his tower of logs. Within minutes they had a large, blazing campfire.

O'Neill had to admit that, need it or not, there was something distinctly comforting about having a campfire.

"There's something about an outdoor fire, isn't there, Sir?"

Jack blinked and turned to Carter in surprise as she unknowing echoed his thoughts. He could see the open smile on her face, along with the hint of a twinkle in her eye acknowledging their own special fondness for the fires they often shared, both off- and on-world. "You betcha."

"Major Carter."

Jack smiled as Carter's face lit up at her change in rank. She abandoned her search of her bag and turned her attention to her teammate. "Teal'c?"

"Did your visit with your father go well?"

Clearly surprised, Carter nodded. "Yes, I . . . well, I think so. My part was okay, not sure how he and Mark got along. I got called back early, so I can only assume that . . .." She shrugged. "I hope so."

"I believe our assault on the compound of Seth and our encounter with Mr. Levinson and his son perhaps prompted General Carter to extend toward your brother. Is that not so, Major Carter?"

Her eyebrows now rising to her hairline, Carter nodded. "I think you mean 'reach out,' Teal'c, but . . . yeah. I think that had something to do with it."

Teal'c nodded in satisfaction. "That is indeed good news. It will be good for both General Carter and for you to have made that effort. It is not good for a warrior to be distracted." With another nod to O'Neill and Carter, Teal'c rose and strode off into the gathering gloom.

Across the fire, Daniel looked up at them both, his journal forgotten on his lap and his mouth open wide. "Um . . . what was that?"

Carter shook her head, glancing from Daniel to Jack and then to where Teal'c had disappeared. "I . . . I have no idea. I didn't even know he knew about Mark."

"Teal'c's a wise, wise man, Major." Jack adopted his best Yoda voice. "You can learn much from him, young warrior."

Daniel snorted and closed his journal with a snap. "Sure, Jack. If you say so. Besides, I'm pretty sure you should have said 'Learn much from him you could,' or something like that." He rose and stretched, then with a grin and wave to them both he ducked inside of his tent. Jack had put Daniel on the mid-watch tonight and he needed his rest.

Carter returned her attention to her bag and Jack turned his to the fire. He sipped the last of his coffee and was just considering going for one last walk before turning in when Carter's small cry of triumph stopped him.

"A-ha!" She pulled a small package out of her bag and placed it on her knee.

"What 'cha got, _Major_?" As he'd intended, his drawled emphasis on her new rank drew a smile from his Second. He watched as she unwrapped the bundle on her knee, then popped open the small, square Tupperware container. "You . . . you actually brought s'more makings, Carter? Off-world?"

Carter shot him a sheepish look. "I know it's an extravagance, Colonel. But . . ." She shrugged, then turned the full force of her blue eyes on him. "I had a feeling about this mission and . . . well . . . it's sort of a special occasion."

"Do tell."

Placing small squares of chocolate on the thin graham crackers she'd pulled from the plastic container, Carter set them near the fire to warm up. She then extracted two slightly squished marshmallows from the box and, quickly spearing them with a stick, she held them over the flames to begin toasting. "I just felt like . . . celebrating. You know, the promotion and all. And since Teal'c was nice enough to provide a fire . . . "

"Ah." O'Neill reached for one of the sticks. "May I?" At Carter's nod he took over the toasting of his own treat. "I like mine crispier."

"I know, Sir."

"I'm sorry we didn't have a chance for a team dinner to celebrate your promotion, Carter. You know I'd have done it."

"I know, Sir. I appreciate the thought." Carter shrugged again.

O'Neill leaned back on one hand as he continued to roast his marshmallow. Out of the corner of his eye he watched as Carter settled herself more comfortably, her elbows resting on her knees, carefully turning her marshmallow for maximum toasting effectiveness. He was enjoying the silence, the comfort of the moment when she spoke up again.

"I also . . . thank you, Sir." He merely raised an eyebrow at her, confused. "For coming up with the oak leaves. I guess you were just as surprised as I was by the promotion?" Clearly embarrassed she tapped her shoulders, indicating the spot where he'd pinned his old oak leaves on her service dress a few days ago and shrugged.

"Why do you think that?"

She faced him. "Well, I . . . I figured that since you used yours for my promotion that you . . . I mean, that nobody had time to . . . " Carter fumbled, clearly disconcerted now.

"Nope. Knew about it long before then. Well, not that it would happen with the SecDef there, but, of course I knew of the promotion, Carter. Who do you think filled out the paperwork?" He gave her a comical grimace.

"Oh." Nonplussed, Carter focused her attention on keeping her marshmallow from erupting in flames.

O'Neill watched her as he toasted his own, trying to sort out the source of her discomfort. He'd wanted to give her something, and since he wasn't able to give her the kinds of gifts he _really_ wanted, he had settled for something else. A new badge of office, worn by him and passed on from him to her, had meant something . . . at least to him. He'd wanted to show her how much he admired her. Trusted her. Respected her. Believed in her. Damn it, he knew subtlety wasn't his strong suit, but he figured she might have at least understood it. Maybe not. "Look, Carter. I don't want you thinking I gave you my old rank because I had nothing better. I–"

"I know that, Sir."

"I–what? You do?"

"I . . . well, I think I do. I just didn't want to read too much into–"

"Read away, Sam. I wanted you to wear my oak leaves."

"Why?"

"Why?"

"Yes, Sir. Why? I know why it's important to _me_ , but I want to know why it was important to you. Sir." She carefully kept her gaze from his as she eased her marshmallow off of the stick and onto her pre-heated graham-and-chocolate layer. Pressing the top layer of graham cracker gently down she balanced the treat on the lid of the Tupperware container, handing the bottom half to him to serve as his own plate.

Instead of answering, Jack efficiently built his own sugary treat. Like her he set his aside to let it cool for a moment, giving himself a moment. He thought over the events of the last few weeks, especially Carter's struggle to master the power Jolinar's infestation had left in her.

 _O'Neill watched as Carter stood over the comatose body of the Goa'uld. Personally, he would be quite happy if the snake-headed son of a bitch would just die, but . . . damn it, he needed Carter to heal the man._ Carter _needed it too, and he hated that. He could see her struggling to summon the power of the device, to access the legacy that Jolinar had left to her. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe Jolinar's memories were getting in the way of the genetic ability she'd left with Carter to use these tools._

" _Uh, I hate to go all . . . Freudian on you here. The part of you that knows how to run those things..."_

 _Carter shot him a fierce look. "You think I don't want to cure Cronus because he ordered Jolinar's death." She bit off each word, a look of defiance on her face. "I just have the memories of Jolinar, she doesn't control me. I'm well aware of the stakes here."_

 _He answered her fiery gaze with a steady look, not rising to the bait. "I'm just saying."_

 _As they stood silently around the bed, Jack suddenly felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. He glanced from Carter to the device she held and then back again, feeling his breath catch in the back of his throat at the look of furious concentration on her normally soft features. As quickly as it had begun, it was finished._

 _The light snapped off and Carter slumped slightly. She looked up in surprise, catching his eyes. "It worked," she said, wonder coloring her tone._

 _Jack held her gaze and quirked a small smile at her._ Of course it did _, he thought._

"Carter, how are you doing?" Jack asked, his thoughts still on the memories chasing across his brain. "With the whole 'superpowers' thing?"

Clearly surprised at his abrupt change of subject, she turned to face him. "It's . . . I'm doing better, I think. It's easier, now, knowing I used the device to heal someone. That what Jolinar left me isn't just good for killing."

Jack picked up his s'more and bit into it, closing his eyes as the sweetness of the treat washed over his tongue. He knew, had known really since the first time he packed the Pop Tart s'mores off-world two years ago, that he'd always associate this treat with Sam Carter. He bit into the confection again and realized that that wasn't such a bad thing. Looking over at her he realized she was waiting for some sort of response from him. He took a sip of his coffee to clear his throat and then, turning to face her fully, tried to explain.

"Like it or not, Carter, Jolinar left you with something. Something terrible and something amazing. Like I said before, what you do with what she left you is up to you. It's her legacy to you." He lifted a shoulder and then dropped it, suddenly realizing how arrogant what he wanted to say next would sound. "I . . . I guess I feel the same about your promotion. I wanted you to wear my insignia. Call it ego, call it hubris, but . . . I like to think it's _my_ contribution to your future. My legacy. Like Jolinar, there's a lot of . . . stuff . . . in those little gold oak leaves. History. There are things I did while wearing them that I'm not proud of, things that had to be done. Needed to be done, distasteful as they were. Other things . . . well, it wasn't all bad."

Next to him, Carter just sat, her eyes on his, her half-eaten treat forgotten on her lap. The fire burned beside them, lighting her in the glow that was fast becoming his favorite way to look at her. A log shifted and popped, startling them both.

Jack shrugged again, offering her a pained smile. "Or not," he said, rather lamely. No, he really sucked at this whole subtlety thing.

"Yin an yang," she said softly, her eyes still on his.

"I guess. Sure." Or . . . maybe he didn't suck; he just wasn't great at it.

Jack watched as Carter reached behind her again, her hand disappearing into her bag. There was no searching this time, no fumbling. She withdrew her hand slowly opened her fingers, palm up. Jack could see a pair of metal insignia glinting in the darkness. Was she giving them back to him? Trying to make light of it, he said, "'Course, Carter, if you don't want all that baggage . . ."

"No, Sir." She reached out with her other hand and, sliding her warm fingers around his, pulled his hand closer. She angled her palm and let the small metal pieces tumble onto his skin. She kept his hand cupped in hers, then carefully bent his fingers around the objects.

As he closed his hand around the metal he realized she hadn't handed him back his gold oak leaves, but rather something smaller, finer. With points. He uncurled his fingers and tilted his palm toward the fire, stunned to see two silver stars nestled there, catching the light of the fire and reflecting the bluish-purple of the nighttime sky. "Carter?"

"They're Dad's."

"Ohhh-kay." Confused he looked from the silver stars in his hands to her. "You've lost me, Sam."

Releasing his hand after giving it a little squeeze she sat back. Popping the last of her dessert into her mouth she leaned back on her arms and tipped her head back, her eyes on the spectacular sky above them. "It's like you said, Sir. Legacies."

"Sam, nobody in their right mind will _ever_ make me a General. Ever." He tried to return the shiny stars to her but she refused.

"Colonel . . ." Carter puffed out a breath. "Jack," she said softly, hardly daring to meet his eyes. "Dad gave these to me for safekeeping the last time he was here. It's his dream that I wear them, someday. And . . . everything I learned about being a proper military officer I learned from him. But . . . everything I've learned about being a . . . leader . . . comes from you."

 _Oh no. No, no, nonononono._ Jack's thoughts whirled around in his brain. "Sam, _please_ tell me you don't think of me as another father." Jack tried to keep his tone light, but couldn't quite hide the panic and nausea that flashed through him with that horrible thought.

Carter's soft snort of laughter washed away that fear instantly. "Um . . . no. Sir. Not even close." She flashed him a quick smile, the one he sometimes felt was so full of promise and was reserved only for him.

"When we were gearing-up for this mission I saw these in my locker and I thought, well . . . you gave me something of yours. Something important that meant a lot to you, which makes it that much more special to me. I wanted to do the same. Sort of a . . . pledge. I'll try to live up to the legacy that you've given me and maybe you can add some more experiences to those little pieces of metal." She sighed again, and this time Jack could see the tension she'd carried since their encounter with Seth and later with Cronus finally drain away. "And . . . maybe the promise of doing both will help me deal with the things Jolinar has left behind."

"But . . . Carter. Sam. These . . . these are Dad's. _Your_ Dad's. You should have them."

"Maybe I will, Sir. Someday. But . . ." Now she tilted her head sideways to look at him, her blue eyes clear in the darkness. "You first."

End.

UTC refers to "Universal Time, Coordinated," which replaced GMT (Greenwich Mean Time) in the early '70's. It's always bugged me that when SG-1 go through the gate at 9 AM MST (Mountain Standard Time) it appears to be the same time on the planet to which they have gated. Ugh. So . . . from this point forward in my fanfic, when/if I refer to times I'll try to be clear about just what time it is. For example, 0000 (midnight) in Colorado Springs would be 0700 (7:00 AM) UCT. That means that the time stamp should read: 0000 MST; (-7:00 UCT). Of course, then, that's just nuts and rather confusing. So, I'm going to make an official-looking statement that states clearly what time it is at the SGC and be done with it. Hey, it's not like I'm Sam Carter or anything!

I am, however, leaving the times in the 24-hour clock. If you don't know it, it'll be good for you to learn it.


	5. Touching Me, Touching You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The cast is off! I'm still in a splint following the surgery, but I can slip it off for short segments to write – which is what I did tonight. Here is an extra long Campfire to make up for the lack while I was injured, I hope it was worth the wait.

  
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A/N: The cast is off! I'm still in a splint following the surgery, but I can slip it off for short segments to write – which is what I did tonight. Here is an extra long Campfire to make up for the lack while I was injured, I hope it was worth the wait.

Thank you to all who consistently review; remember, if you don't leave an email or have a ff dot net account, I cannot respond. I get lovely notes from people and there is only a "( )" in place of a response link so I have no way of saying thank you. I do enjoy reading your feedback and comments and I _always_ respond. So if you've written and feel left out, it's only because I have no way in which to reach you, other than through my writing. So, thank you.

Set after _Legacy_ on a planet of my own making.

 _  
**Touching Me, Touching You**   
_

Sam shifted, trying to get comfortable on the lumpy woven mats the villagers had provided. More villagers were crowding into the tent, lining its walls. She'd already been forced to move twice. She scooted back slightly, bumping the Colonel in the process. Briefly laying a hand on his arm, she muttered quietly, "Sorry, Sir."

O'Neill laid his hand over hers and gave her fingers a quick squeeze. "Don't worry about it." He also shifted in his seat, the mats clearly not doing his butt and back any favors either.

Glancing across the tent, Sam saw Daniel looking over at them and frowning, his serious conversation with the stone-faced village elder interrupted. Again. Sam flashed him a quick smile of apology and settled back down once more.

Daniel, with a glance at Jack and then again at her, nodded once and returned to his discussion, his voice low and intense as he tried to make his point. He'd barely begun speaking when Sam heard O'Neill groan slightly. She turned to him just as he rested a hand against her shoulder, using her as leverage as he rose. Sam instinctively covered his hand with hers, her fingers lingering as she whispered, "Sir? Everything okay?"

O'Neill stared down at her, his eyes intent on hers for a moment. Then, giving her shoulder a brief squeeze, he quirked a small smile her way and muttered, "I'm good, Carter. Just have to give the buns a break. Hold the fort." Patting her shoulder he stepped away.

Sam returned her attention to the negotiations only to find they'd stopped again. Daniel was now glaring at her fiercely.

"Would you two give it a rest, please?" He hissed through clenched teeth.

Bewildered, Sam could only stare at him, opened-mouthed. Give _what_ a rest? She glanced up toward Teal'c only to find the Jaffa looking as puzzled as she felt. O'Neill had already left the tent, leaving her to figure out what Daniel's problem was. She flicked another glance at Teal'c, silently asking him to follow the Colonel. Turning again to Daniel, she mouthed, "What?"

Daniel didn't answer, glowering instead again before turning again to the elder.

Sam shifted again, watching as Daniel did his thing. She kept one eye on him and the other on the villagers. There seemed to be more of them in the tent now than there had been when they started. In fact, she noticed, there were a _lot_ more people in the tent. Despite the numbers crowding inside, Sam noticed that nobody was speaking save for Daniel and the Chief. Suddenly more attentive, she sat up, her senses tingling. Maybe it was her imagination, but she felt as if the villagers were watching _her_.

She felt more than saw O'Neill returning as she carefully scanned the faces who seemed to be studying her very closely. Felt the brush of his leg against her back as he crossed behind her and then the warm weight of his hand on her shoulder as, once again, he leaned on her for support while he sat. He gave her shoulder another squeeze, silently asking if everything was all right. She reached up and patted his hand, squeezing once in response.

Once again their actions seemed to bring the one conversation in the tent to a halt. Daniel, now openly glaring at them both, turned and spoke rapidly to the Chief who in turn rattled something back. Sam realized his tone was somewhat more strident than it had been before. Daniel answered back and then Chief responded, gesturing expansively, his fingers pointing first to her and then to the Colonel. Sam turned to O'Neill to find him looking at her, his expression puzzled. She shrugged, then turned back, just in time to catch Daniel's snort of disgust and his short-tempered bow to the Chief. The team watched as the Chief, with a sharp word of command to the members of his tribe crowded into the tent, rose and strode out, the villagers following with many a backward glance toward both her and O'Neill.

Once they were gone, Jack asked quietly, "Daniel?"

Daniel held up a hand, silently asking for a moment as he bent his head, rubbing his eyes. Sam watched him, concerned. It had only been two weeks since first he, then the rest of the team, had been infected by Machello's "Goa'uld-killing cooties," as the Colonel had dubbed them. Daniel had suffered the worst, first from his hallucinations and then later at the hands of MacKenzie. Teal'c, too, had suffered, but his time in isolation had been short compared to Daniel's drug-enhanced stay in the padded room. Sam wondered if the strain of today's negotiations were too much, too soon for her friend and teammate.

"Daniel," she started.

"Sam . . . just . . . just wait. I can't talk to you right now."

Sam glanced at O'Neill and saw that he was as surprised as she was by Daniel's blunt, almost rude words. When he would have spoken, she shook her head and forestalled him with a light touch on his arm. Then she turned to Teal'c. "Teal'c, would you mind bringing in the rest of the supplies with Daniel? Maybe we can talk after we set up camp." Without waiting for a reply she rose and began putting her gear aside, preparing to rearrange the clutter in the large tent to serve as their home-away-from-home, as the Chief had indicated earlier. Out of the corner of her eye she watched as Daniel shot her one last look before stalking off to follow Teal'c outside to where the rest of their gear lay piled.

O'Neill took his cue from her and he, too, began to clear a space for them to lay out their bedrolls. They worked together as they always did, with no words, just glances and nods, each so used to the rhythms and patterns of the other that conversation was unnecessary. Sam hoped that by leaving him alone they would give Daniel the time he needed to sort through whatever was bothering him.

She bent to rebuild the fire ring in the center of the circle, only to be stopped by O'Neill's hand on her arm. She glanced at him and he shook his head, gesturing toward their packs with his chin. _Coffee. Good idea._ She nodded in return and began rummaging through his pack for what they'd need while he finished the task she'd started.

"See?" It's _that_!" Daniel ground his words out as he stepped back inside the tent, his arms full of gear.

Sam turned to him. " _What's_ 'that,' Daniel?" She continued to find what she needed while the Colonel lit the fire in the small pit, the merry little blaze lighting the room with a warm, amber glow. The tent was designed such that the smoke from the fire was drawn smoothly up through the small vent in the peak of the fabric, leaving the room clear of smoke but warm and bright. The Colonel's fire was crackling away when she returned. When he reached out she placed the already full mug into his hand, her fingers brushing his as she did so.

Daniel sat straight up and snapped, "That! That right there!"

O'Neill glanced from Daniel to Carter, then to the mug in his hands. "Coffee?"

Teal'c ducked inside and silently set his own pile of gear down, his eyes flicking to his teammates, taking in the discussion.

Daniel frowned. "Jack, I'm being serious, here!"

"Daniel, I'm being _confused_ here!" He reached out a hand and Carter laid a spoon in it without a word. He turned to Daniel again as he set his mug down near the fire. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"With me?" Daniel's voice was incredulous and he snorted. "You don't even see it, do you?" He glanced from the two of them to Teal'c and back again.

Sam slid into her usual spot to O'Neill's left, handing him his MRE as Teal'c moved to do the same thing for Daniel. Her leg grazed O'Neill's as she sat and, with her hands full, she started to lose her balance. The Colonel reached up a hand to steady her, providing support as she sat herself down. She nodded as he patted her side and then turned back toward Daniel.

"That. It's that. The touching. You're _always_ touching."

Sam looked up from her dinner, first at Daniel and then at the Colonel. "Who is?"

Jabbing a fork angrily toward her, Daniel nearly shouted, "You!"

"Me?" Sam squeaked. "Who am I touching?" She thought frantically. Had she touched someone today inappropriately? Offended a villager? Was that why so many had begun crowding into the tent? She turned to O'Neill, her eyes wide. Maybe it was him. Maybe he had—

"Teal'c! Tell them."

"What is it you wish me to tell, Daniel Jackson?"

Before he could continue, the Colonel spoke, his voice sharp-edged with command and concern for the archaeologist. "Daniel, why don't you explain?"

Sam slowly ate her MRE while she waited. She exchanged another look with O'Neill, noting that he looked as puzzled and concerned as she felt. Her meal was bland, as they always were, but she kept eating, knowing that she needed to keep her energy up. Besides, bland was imminently better than the dried whatever-it-was she'd seen hanging on the outskirts of the village. As she waited for Daniel to continue, a hand popped up in front of her, holding a small packet. She flashed a smile at her CO and took it from him, her fingers again brushing his. Salt. He'd brought salt! Without a word she tore open the tiny white package and sprinkled her flavorless meal. Even that little addition helped and she shot O'Neill another grateful smile. He nudged her shoulder in return and they both returned their attention to Daniel, only to find him staring at them.

"What?" Sam looked down, wondering if she'd spilled something on her uniform.

Daniel looked toward Teal'c. "They really _don't_ see it, do they?"

Teal'c raised a single eyebrow. "Indeed, they do not." He opened the second of his three nightly MRE's and continued eating.

Sam could feel O'Neill irritation rising, could feel his frustration with Daniel's, and now Teal'c's, words rubbing against her senses as if they were her own. She was just as puzzled as he was, and rapidly moving toward irritation. She set aside her now empty meal packet, absently noting that the Colonel picked it up and packed it away with his own. "Daniel," she said somewhat wearily. "Would you _please_ just explain whatever it is that I . . . or the Colonel did to annoy you?"

"Oh, you didn't annoy _me_ , so much as offend an entire _village_ of people."

"What?"

"Huh?"

She and the Colonel chorused their surprise. O'Neill spoke first, snapping out, "All right Daniel. Enough. What the hell flew into your Fruit Loops this morning!"

"I'm telling you, it's not _me_! The Chief, the villagers, everyone . . . " Daniel sighed as he set aside his half-eaten meal. "Everything was fine at first, but the longer we've been here, the more relaxed we've all become. And when we . . . or really _you_ ," he gestured across the fire toward where Sam and the Colonel sat. "When you relax you, ah, tend to . . . well . . . touch. A lot."

"Who does?"

"You do."

"Touch who?"

"Sam"

O'Neill glanced from Sam to Daniel and then over to Teal'c who continued to eat. He looked again at Sam and she, just as confused, raised her eyebrows at him. They carried on an entire conversation in that single flash of an instant before both shrugged and turned back to Daniel.

"Do not."

"Do to, and you just did again."

O'Neill threw his hands up into the air. "I didn't touch _anybody_ just now." He turned to Sam. "Did you?"

"No, Sir."

"Okay," Daniel conceded. "That time there was no touching, but there was . . . thinking."

"Oh for—Teal'c! Can you translate 'Daniel' for us?"

Teal'c set aside his third empty meal packet and studied them silently as O'Neill made up a coffee for himself, saving some hot water for Sam to have tea. He handed her the now warm mug before fishing in his kit for something. She gave him a small smile, her hand covering his as she took the mug from him.

"Thanks, Sir, but I'll have to have coffee. I forgot to pack more teabags."

O'Neill pulled out a small teabag and gave her a smile. "'S'okay, Carter, I've got you."

"I believe it is to this sort of behavior that that Daniel Jackson refers, O'Neill." Off of their confused looks he continued. "You and Major Carter have an . . . understanding of one another. A level of comfort that comes of long association."

Sam felt O'Neill shrug against her shoulder.

"So. And. Therefore?" He waved a hand at Teal'c.

"You touch. A lot." Daniel's exasperation was clear as he repeated his earlier words.

"Do not."

"Do."

" _Not_." The Colonel's voice was rising.

"Do!" Daniel matched O'Neill's volume, his own expression becoming stony.

"Guys!" Sam snapped and held up a hand. "I mean, Sir, Daniel. Stop." She felt as if she were watching a tennis match. "Daniel, what are you talking about?"

Daniel stared at her, nonplussed. "You _really_ don't see it, Sam? Really?"

Sam shook her head, her wide blue eyes open and guileless. "Daniel, I really don't. What am I supposed to be seeing?"

Tossing up his hands in exasperation, he turned to Teal'c. "I'm right, aren't I? I mean, I'm not imagining it. I know I'm not imagining the villager's reaction. Especially the Chief's."

"You are not," Teal'c responded, even as both Air Force officers spoke up.

"What reaction?" Carter and O'Neill asked together, then glanced at each other. Sam shrugged apologetically for stepping on her CO's words and he crinkled his eyes in response, letting her know it was okay.

Gathering his and Teal'c's empty food packets, Daniel tossed them into the fire before getting to his feet. Finding his gear bag, he reached in and pulled out his bathroom kit. It was clear to Sam that while he had lost a lot of his anger, Daniel was still frustrated. She could almost hear him trying to figure out what to say next. Finally, he turned to face them. "They don't touch here. Publically. _At all_. Didn't you notice?" When they shook their heads, he continued with a sigh. "Guys, it's taboo. _Any_ sort of touching in public is taboo. Out of bounds. Most especially taboo if the people doing the touching are not married, or as they put it, 'avowed' to one another."

Daniel paused at the opening of the tent and Sam let his words sink in. She wasn't at all sure that she or the Colonel were 'guilty' of touching, she figured that was the sort of thing she was likely to notice. But, regardless of what _she_ thought, it was clear that Daniel, along with the villagers, thought differently. She exchanged glances again with the Colonel, silently asking what he thought. Before he could answer, however, Daniel spoke up again.

"And can you _please_ stop doing that, too? At least while we're here?"

"Doing _what_ , for cryin' out loud!" O'Neill's irritation was clear.

" _That!"_

O'Neill threw up his hands and then leaned back, shrugging when Sam turned to look at him, his body language shouting 'I give up.'

"Jack, the Chief is half convinced that you and Sam have special powers! You don't _say_ anything to each other, but suddenly you're both doing something. Something together or apart, doesn't matter, but you go from not moving to looking at each other, then . . . wham! You're doing things. You do it all with a _look_!

"Daniel, that's nuts!"

"No, Jack, it's _perception_. And, as you well know, perception is reality. The people here see you two doing your 'thing,'" and Daniel made little air quotes before continuing, "and they think you have special powers. They're pretty convinced of it, in fact. And around here, special powers equate pretty close to witchcraft. That, I think, we could work around, given time. But it's the other thing that is causing the most trouble. The . . .

"Touching?" Sam finished for him sardonically.

"Yes. That." Daniel stooped and grabbed his jacket. "The Chief's wife thinks that you must be newly avowed since you can't keep your hands off each other." He shrugged. "I'm hoping she'll convince her husband of that. Maybe I can work that angle tomorrow. If not . . . well, I guess we find another planet that's filthy rich in Naquada." Without another word Daniel swept out of the tent and into the darkness beyond, leaving behind two speechless teammates and one bemused Jaffa.

After a long moment of silence Teal'c stood. He offered them a slight bow before collecting his own kit and leaving.

Sam didn't know what to think. She busied herself with her tea, studiously avoiding looking at the Colonel while she thought about what Daniel had said. Okay, so she'd occasionally reach out and . . . sometimes her fingers would brush against his when he . . . maybe she'd lean against him as she . . . and when he was upset she often just. . . _oh_. The more she thought about it, the more she realized Daniel had a legitmate point. A valid complaint. A legitimate, valid, _dangerous_ . . . crap.

They touched.

Often.

Sneaking a glance over at the Colonel she found his eyes on her. When he saw her looking at him he raised an eyebrow, silently asking if she was okay. She started to nod reassuringly and then realized they were doing it again. "I guess this is what Daniel meant, huh, Sir?"

"What . . . oh." His brown eyes crinkled at the corners. "I guess." He looked thoughtful, then said quietly. "Uh, Carter?"

"Sir?" Sam's voice was as low as his.

"About the . . . ah . . . other part?"

"Yeah." Sam sighed. "I mean, yes, Sir. I was just thinking about it, and . . ."

"He's got a point there too, doesn't he?" O'Neill leaned forward, resting his elbows on his bent knees. He kept his face turned toward her, his voice low, meant to be heard only by her, despite the fact that they were the only two in the tent.

Sam sucked in a breath, surprised that he was addressing the . . . issue . . . so directly. She slid her feet up, wrapping her arms around her legs and then she turned her head and rested her cheek on her knees, facing him. The light from the fire played across his features, highlighting the tension she could hear in his voice. She couldn't tell from his tone how he felt about Daniel's comments and she wasn't sure what he wanted her to say. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that they did, indeed, touch, and touch a lot. A lot more than was in any way appropriate. Realizing that he was still looking at her expectantly, Sam took a deep breath. "Sir, I–"

"Carter." O'Neill stopped her. He reached up and they both froze, staring at his hand where it rested on her arm. "Right. Okay." The Colonel nodded, acknowledging what he'd so automatically done. "So."

"So." Sam took another deep breath and then slowly covered his hand with her own. "So," she said again softly, lifting her eyes to his.

"Yeah." O'Neill gave her arm a brief squeeze and then release it, letting his hand fall.

Sam felt a pang as he pulled away and she closed her eyes against it and what it meant.

"The thing is, Carter," O'Neill began, then stopped, clearly uncomfortable.

Sam opened her eyes, instinctively wanting to make it okay for him and not questioning why. "It's okay, Sir. I didn't realize I was doing it. I'll try to–"

"No."

"No?"

O'Neill turned to face her and Sam felt her stomach lurch as they made eye contact. She felt her breath hitch and firmly told herself to get it together. She'd acknowledged her attraction to her CO long ago, knowing that nothing could come of it. It was something she'd acknowledged, therefore she was dealing with it in her own way. But sometimes . . . sometimes it would catch her out of the blue. Sometimes it was a look on his face, or something that he'd say, or she'd come around a corner and see him unexpectedly, and her gut would clench and there would be nothing in her head but him.

Like now.

She wondered what he saw when he looked at her. What he was thinking. He didn't say anything, just returned her gaze, his brown eyes warm on hers, unblinking. Unflinching. They were silent for so long that Sam had almost forgotten what it was they were discussing. When the Colonel spoke again, his voice was as gentle as his regard.

"The thing is . . . Sam . . . I don't know that I can stop. Or that I want to."

Oh.

Wow.

The tingle in Sam's stomach bloomed, warming her more than any campfire ever could. She let out a long, shaky sigh and realized she was shaking slightly as relief flooded her. He needed the contact as much as she did.

Wanted it.

Welcomed it.

"I . . . um . . ."

O'Neill held up a finger, stopping her. "Wait. I don't mean to do it, it's just that I . . ."

Sam took a chance. He had taken a big one just now and she wanted . . . needed . . . to do the same. To let him know that he wasn't the only one. "I know what you mean, Sir." She swallowed hard and closed her eyes, gathering her thoughts. "I can't explain it and I . . . I don't know that I want to try. Not right now." She opened her eyes and met his gaze again, trying to tell him without words what she couldn't say. Not now. Not yet. "The thing is, Sir . . . I know I _can't_. Stop, that is."

O'Neill raised an eyebrow.

Taking in another long, slow breath, Sam said quietly, "I know it's . . . wrong. I know I shouldn't, but I can't . . . really . . . I can't help it. You know?" She rushed on, not waiting for an answer. "Sometimes, when I know you're upset, or angry, I . . . God this sounds really bad, doesn't it? I just . . . _have_ . . . to reach out. To . . ." She hesitated, then forced the words out. "I have to touch you," she whispered. "It's probably all in my head, but I feel like I'm helping, or . . ."

"You are. It's not. In your head, I mean." O'Neill cursed softly and turned his face toward the fire, giving Sam a magnificent view of his sculpted profile highlighted in golden tones. "So," he said again.

"So," She echoed.

"Let's hope Daniel can square it with the Chief tomorrow."

"Yes, Sir." She gave him a gentle smile. "And I'll do my best to keep my hands to myself, Colonel."

O'Neill faced her and Sam watched as a slow, rare smile slipped across his lips. "Good." Keeping his eyes on hers, he slowly, deliberately lifted his hand to hers, pulling it free from her leg. He laced his fingers through hers and slowly slid his thumb over her knuckles. He gave her fingers a squeeze, then laid her hand down on his knee, covering it with his own. "Because as you know, Major, I never ask anything of my officers that I'm not willing to do myself."

Another quick squeeze brought her gaze back up to his. She'd been staring at her hand under his, reveling in the warmth of his callused fingers holding hers. In the tingling that spread through her at his touch, echoed by the even deeper thrill of his _asking_ for her touch.

Wanting it.

Seeming to need the contact as much as did she.

When she met his gaze he silently asked if she really did understand what he was trying to say, but couldn't. What he'd _said_ as well as what he'd _meant_. And, as they did so well, she responded in kind. No words, just a slight tip of her head, a tiny smile, and a gentle touch.

Understood.

End.

Afterword: I will try to keep posting these regularly; however, I began my doctoral program today. It's an intense 3-year, year-round program and looks to be kicking my butt. If you're interested you can follow my progress on my blog at http colon slash slash polsblogdotwordpressdotcom.

Fanfic writing is my release, so have no fear, I'll continue this series. After all, the best is yet to come, the rest of season 3 and then . . . season 4, the ultra shippy season! But . . . I just wanted to give you a heads-up if there's a delay. Thanks again, Pol.


	6. Knowledge is Power

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: By popular request (okay, so it was one reader, but still) young Miles O'Hara is back. For those who don't remember, Miles is a character of my own whom we met in _Leaning_ , the second Campfire of Season 1. Special thanks to (shadowsamurai83) for the prompt to use Miles again. He fit right into this story, I think. Which leads me to another point. If you have a prompt/ idea/ burning desire for a particular thing to be added to a Campfire, shoot me an email and I'll see if I can work it in. Because it was Sam's idea, she got to beta the story, so thanks for that, Sam.

  
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A/N: By popular request (okay, so it was one reader, but still) young Miles O'Hara is back. For those who don't remember, Miles is a character of my own whom we met in _Leaning_ , the second Campfire of Season 1. Special thanks to (shadowsamurai83) for the prompt to use Miles again. He fit right into this story, I think. Which leads me to another point. If you have a prompt/ idea/ burning desire for a particular thing to be added to a Campfire, shoot me an email and I'll see if I can work it in. Because it was Sam's idea, she got to beta the story, so thanks for that, Sam.

Remember, if you've written and feel left out because I have not responded, it's only because I have no way to contact you - your response link in ff dot net is blank. So . . . a heartfelt thank you for your comments - anonymous or otherwise. One last note on responding to reviews. If you include your email address in the review (as some of you have tried to do recently), be sure to fool ff dot net by using "at" and "dot," or it shows up as ( ) in the message body.

Set before and after _Learning Curve_ on Earth and on Orban.

 _  
**Knowledge is Power**   
_

Earth

Colorado Springs, CO

Colonel Jack O'Neill's Home

2215 SGCS (SGC Standard Time)

The fire cracked and popped merrily, casting warm, flickering light on the figures sprawled around the circle. The autumn Colorado sky was a brilliant spectacle of sparkling stars, their light pinpoint bright in the velvety black sky. Smoke from the campfire, barely discernable in the darkness, drifted up slowly, filling the quiet night air with that wonderful aroma only found outdoors.

Just beyond the reach of the light stood a hastily erected tent, far too small to hold Jack, but just the right size for a small boy. The sleeping bag he'd pulled from the garage lay beside him, currently occupied by a young man who had hours ago lost his determined battle to stay awake.

Glancing over at Carter, he watched as she absently ran her fingers through the boy's soft hair, her movements gentle, unconscious. Her face was turned toward the fire and he could see that her thoughts were far away from his backyard. Miles had finally fallen asleep slumped against her, gradually sliding down until his head rested on her thigh. Jack tried not to be envious of a nine-year-old boy.

The team's weekly get-together had certainly been altered by Miles' unexpected presence. Teal'c and Daniel had barely arrived when Miles had appeared at his door, a backpack on his shoulder and slightly worn–but apparently much loved–stuffed dog tucked under his arm. His anxious mother stood behind him, leaning heavily on the porch rail.

" _I'm so sorry, Jack, but–"_

 _Jack waved Miles and his mother inside, immediately reaching out to support the woman as she stumbled. "Daniel! Carter! Some help here!"_

 _As Daniel and Carter came running, Jack helped Lisa into a nearby chair. She smiled gratefully as Miles danced around, his excited chatter filling the room. "The baby's comin' soon, Mom says. Today, even. Did you know that Mom had a baby in her tummy, Colonel Jack?"_

 _Jack gave the boy a smile, then gestured with his chin, catching Carter's eye. She nodded and quickly took Miles' hand, pulling him toward the kitchen._

" _C'mon, Miles, let's go get everyone some drinks."_

"' _Kay, Captain Sam." The boy bounced along beside her, gazing up at her adoringly._

" _Lisa, what can I do? Have you called Tom?"_

 _Lisa O'Hara grimaced again as another contraction hit. "Can't," she gasped. "He was sent overseas last week. Called my sister, she's gonna meet me at the base hospital."_

 _Lisa reached out and instinctively grasped the hand nearest hers, and Jack was grateful that it was Daniel's. The grip of a woman in labor could turn coal to diamonds, he was sure._

" _Let me call –"_

" _Jack. I've called the ambulance." Jack shot Teal'c a look and the big man immediately stepped outside, ready to flag down the paramedics. "I need you to . . . I'm so sorry, but can you keep an eye on Miles? Katie's out of town at her mother's this week. I know you're–"_

 _Jack waved her off. "Not a problem, Lisa. I'm on it. He can stay as long as he needs to." He gave her shoulder a brief squeeze. "You just worry about bringing this little one along."_

 _Miles and Carter returned carrying various cans of soda and a bottle of water. Miles handed the bottle to his mother and leaned on her knee, bending to put his face in front of hers. "Mom. MOM!"_

 _Lisa's pain-glazed eyes told Jack she was in the midst of another contraction, but she turned to smile down at her son._

" _Mom, didja know that Captain Sam is now_ Major _Sam? That's cool, huh? I saluted her and everything, just like Colonel Jack does."_

 _Before she could respond, Teal'c led two young paramedics into the room. Miles' excitement dropped significantly and his lower lip began to tremble at the sudden flurry of activity around his mother. He glanced from his mother to Jack, then around to Carter. As his eyes filled, Jack pulled him back, tucking the boy against his legs and holding his shoulders. He bent low and whispered to him, "Miles, these guys are gonna take your mom to the base hospital to have the baby. Mind staying here and helping us eat the pizza? I think we ordered too much."_

 _Miles looked to his mother for reassurance, but she was focused on her obviously advanced labor. He sniffled slightly and then looked over at Carter, who stepped up and rested her hand on his arm. "Your mom's going to be okay, Miles. Come eat some pizza with us, please?"_

 _The low voices of the paramedics asking Lisa questions distracted him for a second, then the boy turned back again to face Jack and Carter. "You promise?"_

 _Both officers nodded, and Jack said solemnly. "Miles, I never make a promise I can't keep." He held out his hand, waiting until Miles slowly reached out and took it. "We'll shake on it, okay?"_

" _Okay, Colonel Jack." Miles shook Jack's hand then turned to Carter. Extending his hand to her he asked quietly, his voice trembling, "Major Sam? You promise too?"_

 _The smile on Carter's face shot straight to Jack's heart. She knelt down and wrapped the small boy's hand in hers and shook solemly, then pulled him to her for a hug. "I promise, Miles. She'll be great. You'll see." When she released him he turned and leaned back against her, watching the men wheel his mom out to the waiting ambulance, one hand still clutching Carter's._

The fire popped and Jack saw Carter jump slightly, then glance down to where Miles lay sound asleep in her lap. After learning that the team often camped out while on their "missions," nothing would do for him but to have a small tent and sleeping bag of his own. They'd indulged him and had a bit of fun teaching the boy how to properly set up a campsite. The image of Teal'c teaching Miles to safely build a firepit and lay a fire was one Jack wouldn't soon forget. The small boy squatting beside the man nearly four times his size, listening attentively to every word the Jaffa uttered. Jack had caught Carter watching too and they'd shared a smile at the sight, careful to not let Teal'c see them.

"You okay, Carter?" Jack asked softly, unwilling to disturb the boy.

"Yes." Sam yawned and stretched, careful not to move her legs. "Just . . . thinking."

"You were awfully quiet tonight. Even Teal'c spoke more than you did tonight, and you _know_ how chatty he can be."

"Just tired, I guess."

"Hmm." Jack reached over and laid another log on the fire, gently poking the coals as he did. As the burning embers spiraled up into the stars above, he turned to her. "Excited about heading to Orban?"

Once again Carter was staring into the fire, her fingers never ceasing their careful caressing of the soft red hair lying haphazardly across Miles freckled features. "Hm?" She blinked, then turned to him. "Oh, yeah." She glanced down at the sleeping child and then back up to O'Neill. "But, Sir. What about Miles?"

Jack leaned back against the bench behind them. He lifted Miles' legs and slid them into the sleeping bag, carefully repositioning him, but being just as careful to not dislodge his head from Carter's lap. He was sure neither Carter nor Miles would be happy about that. He caught Carter's concerned glance and gave her a small smile. "Relax, Carter. At this point we could not only move him, but take him into the house, change him, and tuck him into bed and he wouldn't wake up. Trust me."

He tried not to acknowledge the wave of sadness that washed over him as he spoke. The countless nights he'd done just that with Charlie flashed through his memories. He knew Carter was aware of his thoughts when she offered him a small smile, her expression one of gentle understanding.

"Yes, Sir. My brother says my niece and nephew are the same way."

"So, about Miles. I called Hammond while you and Teal'c were making s'mores with our young friend here and he's agreed that you, Daniel and Teal'c can go ahead to Orban tomorrow. I will join you after all of this is sorted out."

"That's great, Sir. I'm really looking forward to the exchange."

"I know you are, Carter. So . . . no need to wait."

"Right. Yes, Sir."

They fell silent again, and Carter returned her gaze to the fire. Jack watched her surreptitiously, aware that something was going on with his Second, but uncertain how to broach the subject. She'd been fine when she'd arrived, chatting and laughing with him and later Daniel and Teal'c. It wasn't until after Miles' arrival that he'd noticed a change in her. The boy had naturally gravitated to her all evening, leaning on her leg or ducking under her arm, silently seeking comfort and reassurance, both of which Carter had seemingly been happy to give him. Once or twice he'd caught her watching Miles as he, Jack, tried to teach him how to play checkers, but she'd glanced quickly away each time he'd tried to silently ask her if she was okay.

Jack cleared his throat softly and asked her again. "Carter, you okay?"

Carter let out a long sigh and looked down, her attention on Miles' tangled curls. "Yes. Really. I . . . sometimes I get a little . . . I don't suppose you can call it 'homesick,' but . . .."

"How about 'normal'-sick?" He hated to see his normally light-hearted Second so down and was rewarded with a slightly wan smile.

"Yeah, that'd be good. Don't get me wrong, Colonel. I _love_ my job. I love our team. But sometimes . . . sometimes I wonder what it'd be like to be . . . normal."

Jack snorted softly. "I guess you're right, we're about as far from normal as it is possible to be." Once again he was rewarded, this time with a wider, more genuine smile.

"Yes, Sir." Carter shrugged, clearly attempting to throw off her melancholy mood. "It's just . . . he's such a great little guy, you know? And I wonder . . .."

Jack was surprised. Was Carter getting the urge to have kids? What'd they call it . . . nesting? What would that mean for the team? For the SGC? For Earth? For . . . he fought down his last thought, ruthlessly suppressing the little voice in his head that asked, _what would that mean for me?_ He'd never really considered that she might want to have kids someday. They'd spoken of it, sort of, once. When she'd given him her dad's baseball glove, a replacement for Charlie's, which he'd given to Ry'ac. He'd tried to tell her to save if for her own kids, but that had been one of those comments you threw out there. He'd never really considered that someday Sam Carter might choose a family over, well, _this_ family. The thought made him suddenly queasy and he had to look away for fear that she'd see what he was thinking. He was certain that it was written clearly across his face.

He didn't look away quickly enough, however, as Carter reached out and laid a gentle hand on his arm. "Don't get me wrong, Colonel. I'm not planning on running out to the local sperm bank and whipping up a–"

"Mini-you?"

This time it was Carter who snorted softly, chuckling as she spoke. "Yes, Sir." She gave his arm a quick squeeze, making sure to hold his gaze for a moment. "I'm willing to wait, for a while. Especially if this," she gestured toward Miles' sleeping form, "is the payoff."

Jack offered her a weak smile, his mind still whirling at the thought of Carter thinking she needed to go to a sperm bank to have kids. Christ, any number of men at the SGC would be _more_ than willing to offer up their services. Any living, breathing male on the _planet_ for that matter, himself included. Again Jack slapped down the voice in his head. He opened his mouth, then shut it again, afraid of what might come out. He desperately searched for a new topic, glancing around the firepit for inspiration. His gaze landed on the checkerboard lying on Carter's other side. "So," he cleared his suddenly hoarse throat. "What'd you think of the checkers lesson?"

Carter studied him for a moment, and Jack was certain she saw through his ruse. Then she snorted softly before turning away and facing the fire. "I think you've added a few rules I've never heard of. Sir." She added the honorific deliberately late, giving him an eyebrow worthy of their Jaffa teammate.

"Major Carter, I'll have you know that those rules were handed down through the generations, taught to me by my very own grandfather who was taught them by _his_ father. Are you impugning the O'Neill family honor?"

"Oh no, Colonel. Not me. Just admiring the . . . creative . . . interpretation of the rules."

"Well, somebody has to teach the boy some games."

"And you're just the man to do it, Sir."

"And believe me," he continued as if she hadn't spoken. "I have plenty of games to share. I just didn't think he was old enough to master the yo-yo." Jack stopped and turned to her, his expression suspicious. "Carter, did you just . . . insult me?"

Turning her wide blue eyes on him, Sam Carter just smiled. "Me, Colonel? Never."

Jack leaned across her and the sleeping child, resting his hand on her ankle for balance. He grabbed the checkerboard from where it lay, lifting it and setting it on his lap. "Just for that, Major, _you_ have to learn to play too."

"O'Neill rules?"

"The _only_ way I play." He set up the tiny round chips, then rubbed his hands together. Making sure he had his cell phone nearby in case Miles' mother called, he turned again to his Second. "Game on, Major."

S J S J S J S J S J S J S J S J

Orban

Central City

Kalan's Home

1746 SGCS (SGC Standard Time)

Late Night, Orban

Jack watched as Teal'c sat in the corner facing young Tomen, quietly speaking to the boy, teaching him the basics of his kel'no'reem ritual. He was amazed at the bond between the two, but delighted that Teal'c was so willing to spend time with the Orbanian child. Their interaction reminded Jack of Teal'c's instant friendship with Miles back on Earth.

They'd spent the day with the Orbanians, following Kalan's excited message back to the SGC that morning. The transformation of the former Urrone children–keepers of knowledge–after Merrin's return was nothing short of miraculous. Jack still couldn't believe it. He had thought he was offering one child freedom, sanctuary. Instead he'd opened up a whole new world for an entire subsection of the Orbanian population. Who'd have thought that he, Jack O'Neill, would be responsible for something like this? He shook his head, still somewhat bemused at the turn of events.

He glanced up as Carter joined him before the fireplace, taking the steaming cup she offered. As she settled herself beside him he thought again of the events of the last few days. "Hard to believe all of this can happen overnight, isn't it?"

"Well," Carter shrugged. "Not really, Sir. I mean, with the Averium it seems that the knowledge and experiences of one are quickly disseminated."

"I know _that_ , I mean . . . well, I don't really know what I mean. But I'm glad that whatever we did – _I_ did," he quickly amended, "didn't screw things up."

"No, Sir. I mean, yes. I'm glad too." Carter glanced around the darkened house as she drank her tea, her thoughts apparently elsewhere.

Jack sipped his coffee and watched her. Kalan and his wife had retired some time ago and Daniel was still working in the gateroom, eager to uncover more archaeological evidence to support his theories. Teal'c seemed to be enjoying his time with Tomen, and Jack was happy to just be sitting after spending the afternoon coloring and visiting with Merrin and the other children, teaching them to play. Carter, however, seemed to be distracted, thoughtful. Jack shrugged to himself. He was content to sit there quietly with her, enjoying the peaceful evening and drinking his coffee.

"Sir?" Carter's quiet voice broke the silence. "I've been meaning to ask you . . .." She trailed off, looking serious, almost . . . unsure of herself. When he nodded she continued. "Um . . . so, Miles. I mean . . .." She began her question, then, clearly changing her mind, asked instead, "So, did, um, Lisa have her baby?"

"She did. Little girl."

"Oh, that's great." Carter looked away, then back at him, fidgeting with the cuff of her sleeve. "How, ah, I guess . . . I mean, I didn't know you knew them that well. To watch Miles for the night." Somehow her statement was a question.

Jack looked at her, trying to figure out what she was asking and why. Why would she care if Miles stayed at his place, or if . . . oh.

 _Oh_.

"I see the kid just about every day when we're on Earth, you know? Just to wave and say 'hi.'" He squinted at her for a moment, hoping he'd interpreted her question correctly. "Sam, Lisa's married. Miles' dad's at Peterson. He's a civilian contractor."

"Oh. Well." Carter blew out a breath, clearly relieved, but still uncomfortable. She gave him a weak smile. "That's good. Great, I mean. Great."

"What's so great about it, Carter? Like Lisa said, he's overseas at the moment."

"Yes. Right. No." Carter scrubbed her hands over her face, obviously frustrated. "Never mind, Colonel. I'm glad Lisa and the baby are good."

"They are." Jack sat up and turned to her. "Miles asked about you when he woke up." He offered her a small smile. "Wanted to know why you weren't there." Jack studied her for a long moment, enjoying the play of the firelight across her fair features. Truth be told, he'd begun to wonder that too lately, and he wasn't entirely sure what to do about it.

"He is a great little kid," she said softly, her eyes not leaving his.

"Yeah. He is." Unable to help himself, he added quietly, "I . . . ah . . . told him you don't live with me, that you were just visiting."

She held his gaze, her expression saying what she couldn't before she responded. "What did he say?"

"He said, 'Why not?'" He watched as her eyes widened at his words and he wondered what was going on in her head. She didn't, as he expected, look away. Instead, impossibly, her expression softened and her blue eyes warmed as she returned his gaze. Finally it was Jack who turned away. _Time to change the subject, Jack. It's getting a little warm in here._

He sat up and picked up his coffee cup, taking a sip and using the motion to gather his thoughts. "Sam?" he asked, his voice deceptively mild.

"Sir?" Carter's voice was still quiet, soft. She had sat up when he had, and she turned to him expectantly.

"Merrin asked me something the other day, as we were driving back to the SGC. She said that she came to you, asking for your help in going back to Orban."

Carter turned to him, taking a long drink of her tea while she waited for him to continue. Jack eyed her and then said, quietly, "So, Carter, just what 'interesting' things did you do when you turned fifteen?"

Only Jack's lightning fast reflexes saved him from a bath as Carter spit out her mouthful of hot tea. He patted her back, helping her as she coughed and spluttered, then offered her his handkerchief to dry her face when she'd recovered.

"I, ah . . . well, Sir."

Jack shot her a sharp grin and leaned back, his elbows supporting his body as he stretched his toes toward the fireplace, grateful to be out of his boots. He raised an eyebrow at her and said, "Fifteen, Carter? Care to share what 'interesting' thing you were talking about?" He stretched his back, drawling in a soft, teasing voice, "I mean, I can think of some things _I_ did at fifteen, but . . . well . . .." He shrugged, leaving the rest unspoken.

Beside him Carter made a show of mopping up her remaining tea. She was flushed pink, more from embarrassment, he suspected, than from her recent explosion of hot tea. Jack was enjoying her discomfort, delighted to have learned something heretofore unsuspected about his proper, precise Second. She had a tiny bit of a wild streak. Oh, he'd known there was a streak there, you only had to see her on that motorcycle of hers to see it. But to know that she'd had a little . . . fun . . . at fifteen. Well, that was . . . something.

He started again, determined to get a little more mileage out of this, and maybe more information. "Let's see," he pretended to consider. "I guess you were going to tell her all about how you . . . learned to drive. Or maybe it was . . . solving complex equations. I know," Jack sat up and mimed snapping his fingers. "It was the first time you–"

"French kissed anyone." Carter's dry voice cut through Jack's lighthearted teasing.

"I . . . you . . . what?" Jack felt his jaw drop open. That had to be the last . . . okay, _second_ last thing he expected her to say.

Carter faced him fully, a smile sliding across her full lips. She had a glint in her eye that should have warned him. "Jeremiah Sullivan." She arched an eyebrow at him. "That's what you wanted to know, wasn't it, Sir?"

"Ah . . . sure. Yes." _No it wasn't. No. Not really._ The voice in his head yammered for attention.

Carter leaned back on her elbows, mirroring his pose, a picture of relaxation. She tilted her head back, her eyes on the high ceiling above them. "Oh yes," she said lazily. "That was quite a year. I learned a lot from Jeremiah that summer. A lot. Learning new things is fun."

Jack watched as her expression turned dreamy as she thought back to that time. Suddenly he was sorry he'd begun this. It wasn't funny anymore, the thought of Carter kissing someone. Someone other than . . . once again the voice was back, and once again he told it to shut up. Picturing Carter learning to French Kiss was _not_ the way to change the subject. As he had that night in his backyard he found himself casting around for a change in topic. Before he could find something, however, Carter spoke up.

"Colonel?"

"Major?" _That's right, Jack. 'Major.'_

She deliberately sat up, taking a long moment to set her mug aside before turning to face him fully. Very slowly she reached inside of the bag behind her and pulled out a small, magnetic checkerboard. Her eyes not leaving his, she laid the board between them. She looked away then and began to, with infinite care and precision, place the tiny red and black chips in their places. When she was finished she met his gaze again with an intensity that staggered him. "You know what I learned most that summer? Sir?"

Jack could only shake his head mutely.

"That I love to learn new things. I learned something this week, too . . . that if anyone can teach someone to play, Colonel, it's you." She took a deep breath and then blew it out slowly, steadying herself. "Let's have those O'Neill rules again, Sir."

A smile slowly crossed her face, lighting her eyes, and Jack felt his breath catch in his throat. _That_ smile. That smile was deadly.

Dangerous.

And only for him.

He studied her for a long moment, wondering . . . hoping . . . he understood what she was saying. Or not saying. He, just as deliberately as had she, set aside his now cold cup of coffee before turning toward her. Leaning forward until they were nearly nose-to-nose across the board, he whispered, "Game on . . . Sam."

End.

Afterword: I'll confess that I think the title to this piece is a bit lame. I was stumped. Usually I either know the title before I start or something from the piece pulls at me. But this time . . . nada.

So, one week into the doctoral program and I'm buried under work, plus planning lessons for my three classes. But . . . something must have inspired me, this is the longest Campfire to date. Must be some law of physics involved. grin


	7. Perspective

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I am so sorry for the delay in writing this story. It seems the overtly shippy episodes are the hardest to write. I've discovered that doctoral work is life-altering in its complexity in terms of scheduling and juggling. Bear with me, I have more stories to come, I promise. I do appreciate your wonderful comments and feedback, they help me on the days when Real Life gets me down.

  
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A/N: I am so sorry for the delay in writing this story. It seems the overtly shippy episodes are the hardest to write. I've discovered that doctoral work is life-altering in its complexity in terms of scheduling and juggling. Bear with me, I have more stories to come, I promise. I do appreciate your wonderful comments and feedback, they help me on the days when Real Life gets me down.

Set after _Point of View_ on a planet of my own making.

 _  
**Perspective**   
_

Major Samantha Carter watched as her CO carefully fed the small fire. Positioned behind a small tumble of boulders, he kept his back toward the front of the small cave, blocking the brittle wind that threatened to extinguish the tiny flame he'd managed to get to catch. She cast a wary glance back down the rock-strewn side of the mountain, looking for any sign of a threat, thankfully seeing nothing. Behind her she heard O'Neill curse softly as once again the whistling wind undid his work. Shrugging deeper into her field jacket, she reached out to pull another jumble of branches toward the entrance, trying to increase the screen they'd built to cover the cave's opening. Sam gradually increased the shielding of the cave's opening, slowing cutting down on the wind blowing in from outside.

"Thanks, Carter."

Sam heard another scrape and knew he was lighting another match.

"Yep, that's got it."

Looking over her shoulder, she could only see the light the small fire was casting, the dancing flames highlighting the rocky features of the small cave. The boulders behind which he'd built the fire hid the flames from sight. Squeezing out of the entrance, Sam carefully picked her way about ten feet down slope, checking all the while to be certain they weren't giving away their position, just in case there were other humans on the planet. The climb down and back up warmed her slightly, but she knew the minute she was back inside she'd be as cold as she'd been moments before.

"Carter." O'Neill's whisper didn't carry far over the howling wind.

"Right here, Colonel." Sam squeezed back through the opening she'd made in the screen shielding the cave's entrance. She found O'Neill waiting tensely inside. "I was just checking to make sure."

"We're good?"

"Yes, Sir. Couldn't see a thing."

"Great." O'Neill paused, running a hand through his hair, making it spike out in all directions. "You good here? I'm gonna . . ." he waved vaguely outside and despite the seriousness of their situation, Sam gave him a smile.

"Yes, Sir. I did the same while I was out." She bent to open their packs, intent on pulling out their meals. She really hoped Daniel and Teal'c were. As she activated the chem packs in their MREs she calculated how long they might be stuck on the planet. They hadn't seen any signs of human inhabitants, but she felt better knowing they weren't advertising their presence with an enormous bonfire visible for miles. What had seemed a logical plan early this morning now seemed rather foolhardy. Daniel, with Teal'c providing protection, had wanted to remain in the valley studying the runes they'd found. Sam, however, had gotten strong indications of a Naquadah deposit north of their camp. The Colonel had, after three days of watching Daniel make rubbings and recordings, had enough. Grabbing any excuse to just _move_ , he had tapped Sam on the shoulder and they'd headed north. The plan had been simple. One day's travel north, look around, one day's travel back.

What they hadn't factored in was the incredibly sudden change in temperature. Sam had seen the clouds building in the eastern sky as they hiked but hadn't really thought much of it. Not until the icy wind swept down onto the high plain she and the Colonel had just discovered did she realize that they were in trouble.

" _Teal'c." O'Neill voice was sharp over the radio, pitched low to be heard over the suddenly screaming wind. He had one hand clamped tightly to Sam's arm and she was grateful for the additional pressure. The wind buffeting them was strong enough that it had already twice knocked her off of her feet._

" _O'Neill, are you well?"_

" _No!" O'Neill shouted to be heard above the howling wind. "Listen, T. Grab Daniel and head to the 'gate. There's a helluva storm heading your way." Another huge gust of wind, this one an icier blast than the first, knocked both officers to their knees. "Carter and I are gonna shelter here. We'll head to the 'gate when this stops."_

" _Understood, O'Neill."_

 _Sam watched her CO struggle with his gloves, finally crowding close to his front to block the wind while he worked his fingers back inside. He gave her a brief smile and squeezed her arm before turning them both toward the edge of the plateau in search of shelter._

"That dinner?"

O'Neill's quiet voice startled her and she bit back a muffled curse when she jumped. _Way to be alert there, Samantha._ "Yes, Sir. Your choice . . . chicken or beef?"

Her Colonel shrugged as he took one of the packets she offered. "Does it matter? They all taste like chicken, don't they?"

"Yes, Sir."

"So . . . I figure this storm should die out . . . soon. Ish. Then we wait 'til morning and hoof it back to the 'gate. Yes?"

"That's about what I figured, Sir." Sam picked at her dinner. "I can't believe this."

"Food that bad? We can switch." O'Neill held out his meal, his guileless expression open.

"Huh?" Sam continued eating. "No," she gestured toward their surroundings. " _This_. Stuck in a cave."

"At least we found shelter."

"Yes, Sir." She shrugged. "But . . . we should have known, you know? The MALP didn't show anything that would indicate this . . ."

"Guess science isn't perfect. Makes me glad, though that I told Hammond 'no' when he tried to push that new guy on us."

"New guy . . . oh. You mean Flessert?"

"Yeah. I really don't want to be stuck in a cave with a–" O'Neill stopped abruptly, and Sam, realizing what he was going to say, merely looked at him, one eyebrow raised. "C'mon, Carter. You know I don't think of you as a . . . _scientist_ . . . anymore. You're . . . you're better than that."

"Very funny, Colonel." Sam couldn't help but return the tiny smile he gave her. She took another bite of her dinner, pondering his words.

O'Neill looked up to find her staring at him, then looked down at himself. "What? Did I spill?"

"Hmm?" Sam shook her head, carefully wrapping up her now empty packet and packing it away. "No, Sir. Just thinking."

"Course you are." O'Neill dug into his pack and pulled out his spare t-shirt. He shed his jacket and BDU overshirt and quickly drew the additional shirt over the one he was already wearing. Sam watched as, shivering slightly, he redonned the other items. She had done the same while he was out, knowing the temperature was going to continue dropping through the night.

The two silently began setting up for the night, laying the folded tent on the ground as an insulator before piling one sleeping bag upon it to sit on. They left the second bag out to use to cover up against the cold. Sam knew that there was little chance of either of them sleeping tonight, it was too cold and too loud. Once they were settled atop the first bag, the second lying over their laps, Sam pulled the small pot of boiling water off the fire and began pouring it into their mugs. She needed something warm to drink.

"So," O'Neill drawled. "You gonna tell me what you're thinking so hard about?"

She handed him his cup of coffee and carefully cradled her own steaming mug in her hands. The tiny fire did nothing to dispel the biting, icy cold that had descended upon them, and she couldn't help but to slide a tiny bit closer to O'Neill. "I . . . I guess I was thinking about that. You know. How you said when we met that you had a little problem with scientists."

"Oh, c'mon, Carter. You know I was just teas–"

"Oh, I don't mean that, Sir." Sam swallowed her tea, wondering if she should continue. She remembered the shock that had shot through her system the other day when the Alternate Kowalsky had blurted his protest at the conference table.

" _What, you think I'm going to let her go alone? She's my best friend's_ wife _!"_

 _Sam couldn't stop herself. Her gaze snapped from Kowalsky to the Colonel. For the first time in their three years working together, she couldn't decipher the look on his face. Kowalsky's words didn't appear to have surprised O'Neill and now she wondered just how long he'd known._

 _Sam forced herself to focus on the briefing, but one corner of her mind refused to let go of the news Kowalsky had brought. In yet another alternate universe, she and Jack O'Neill had a relationship that was more than commander and second, more than collegial, more than friends._

 _She'd finished the briefing then headed to get collect Samantha. As she made her way through the halls, she thought back to the night before, to finding O'Neill in the hallway outside of the_ other _Carter's quarters . . ._

 _Sam strode down the hallway, thinking over her meeting with Kowalsky. It was odd to speak to him now as an equal. The last time she'd seen him . . . or the_ other _him . . . the_ real _. . . him, he'd been dead. Now he wasn't. She looked up in time to see O'Neill turning into her path, he'd apparently been to see . . . Oh._

" _Sir. General Hammond told me the news. I took the liberty of informing Major Kawalsky."_

" _Thank you. I was just on my way to do that."_

 _Sam studied him for a moment, wondering at the almost . . . hurt look on his face. "I thought I'd drop in on, uh…Samantha, see how she's doing."_

" _She's fine." He clearly didn't want her to disturb the other woman. "I think she'd rather be left alone at the moment. Just stop in tomorrow."_

" _Oh. All right. Goodnight, Sir." She turned to leave but was stopped by O'Neill's quiet voice._

" _Carter."_

" _Yes, Sir?"_

 _He looked uncomfortable as he asked, "How are you doing with this . . . twin thing?"_

 _Sam couldn't hold back a soft snort and she answered without thinking, "Do you have a couple of hours?"_

 _O'Neill was silent for a second, then met her gaze and said quietly, "Okay."_

 _Sam's jaw dropped open and she was caught off guard. She'd meant her comment rather flippantly, meeting his expected sarcasm with her own attempt to lighten the situation. She had never expected him to say that he really_ did _have a few hours to listen to her process the craziness that had descended upon them. Jack-I-don't-do-emotions-O'Neill had just told her he was willing to sit and . . . talk. About feelings. Flustered and not sure how to react, she quickly stammered, "It…that_ was _the answer."_

 _O'Neill's quiet "Oh" unsettled her even further and Sam quickly made her escape._

"Carter." O'Neill snapped his fingers in front of her face. "Hey, where'd you go?"

Sam gave him a small smile of apology. "I'm sorry, Colonel. I was thinking about . . . Samantha."

"Ah." O'Neill returned his attention to his coffee cup, apparently finding its contents fascinating.

"You know, your joke about scientists . . . obviously _some_ Jack O'Neill's have gotten over their 'little problem with scientists.'" She glanced at him to see his reaction.

O'Neill said nothing as he set his cup aside and leaned back against the roughened cave wall, tugging the downy sleeping bag more snugly up under his chin. His movements pulled the bag from her and Sam reached out and tried to retuck the slippery fabric around her own legs. O'Neill stopped her with a hand on her arm. "Let me, Carter." He pulled her into his side and arranged the bag over them both, leaving only their heads sticking out of the top of their impromptu downy tent.

Under the covering, Sam clasped her hands together, regretting having broached the subject with him. She hadn't worked through how she felt about their being together in two separate alternate realities, and now, from his reaction, neither had O'Neill. She wasn't unaware of the constant pull of attraction she felt toward him, had felt toward him since the first moment they'd met. She'd long since resigned herself to the fact that she didn't have a simple crush on this man, her commanding officer, that her feelings ran deeper. Much deeper. And, in the most secret part of her heart, she held a tiny hope that he felt the same way. That he understood, as did she, that while they served together, nothing could come of it. But sometimes . . . sometimes things pushed those feelings to the fore, and last week's encounter with Samantha _O'Neill_ had been one of those times. Watching him kiss her . . . someone who was her and yet wasn't . . . Sam's heart ached at the memory.

O'Neill's quiet voice broke the quiet between them. The howling wind nearly covered his words as he said, "I don't _still_ have a problem with scientists you know. Or at least not all of them."

Sam looked over at him to find his eyes quite close to her own. Her breath caught in her throat as she whispered, "I'm . . . I'm glad to hear that." She swallowed hard, unable to break from his intense gaze. "Sir."

The Colonel looked away first, his brown eyes focusing on the feeble fire before them. His voice was low, quiet, and Sam had to bend closer to hear him. "You know . . . Sam. There are a lot of . . . things . . . I'd like to talk about, but . . ."

She sighed and then shivered as a particularly strong gust of wind hit the mountainside, sending shale and rock cascading down the hillside around their cave and causing the the thick screen of branches she'd constructed to wheeze in and out. She unconsciously ducked into O'Neill's shoulder in response to the increased noise. For his part, O'Neill did the same, pressing his shoulder to hers, seeming to need the touch of another human being in the face of the fierce storm raging just feet from their shelter. "But," Sam nodded against his shoulder, finishing his sentence, "given our ranks, and our jobs . . ."

"Yeah." Careful not to dislodge their covering, O'Neill slid his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side.

As she felt her shivering ease as some of his warmth seeped into her own body, she thought again of Samantha and all that the other woman had lost. Like the first Dr. Carter that Daniel had met, this new alternate Samantha had lost her reality's Jack O'Neill. For a moment, as she sat hunched against him, Sam marveled at the science of it all. The miracle of understanding that had given her not once, but twice, a glimpse of what could be with the man at her side. She wondered, though, what it meant than in each of the other realities, those Samantha's had lost their Jack's. Sam shivered again, this time from a different kind of cold.

"You okay?"

"Yes, Sir. I was just thinking . . . you know, of the alternate realities we've encountered so far. Something Einstein said. 'Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one.'"

"Hmm." O'Neill's voice rumbled through her, she could feel and hear him as her head rested on his shoulder, tucked nearly under his chin. "You know what Teal'c said to me?"

"Mmh mh." She shook her head, her cheek brushing against the rough fabric of his jacket.

"Ours is the only reality of consequence."

"Wow. That's so . . . Teal'c."

"Yeah."

"So . . . I guess it's my job as a scientist to figure out how to keep our reality . . . well . . . _ours_." Sam lifted her head to meet O'Neill's gaze. His brown eyes captured and held hers, his gaze open and steady, a singular unshuttered opportunity to look into his soul. Sam felt her own carefully constructed walls drop away in the face of his openness and she tried to give to him what he was giving to her, a look deep inside, a rare glimpse of what they kept so carefully hidden.

Finally O'Neill nodded, his eyes leaving hers and his hand lifting to once again tuck her tightly under his chin. He tightened his hold on her, pulling her even closer to keep them both warm. "You know what, Carter?" He asked, his low voice rumbling through the still-shrieking wind. "I'm discovering that there's a lot to be said for science."

End.


	8. Fathers and Sons and Daughters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Trying to keep these coming at a steady rate. This was terribly non-shippy episode. As always, I adore feedback. It keeps me going through the dark days of studying. To the ever-faithful "dp" who reviews, I can never respond to you because all I ever get for a response address is "()". So I'll say to you publicly, thank you for your constant positive support.

  
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A/N: Trying to keep these coming at a steady rate. This was terribly non-shippy episode. As always, I adore feedback. It keeps me going through the dark days of studying. To the ever-faithful "dp" who reviews, I can never respond to you because all I ever get for a response address is "()". So I'll say to you publicly, thank you for your constant positive support.

Set after _Deadman's Switch_ on a planet of my own making.

 _  
**Fathers and Sons . . . and Daughters**   
_

"You know, I still can't believe you traded places with the guy, T." O'Neill's voice cut through the quiet that had settled over their tiny camp.

Sam watched as he poked restlessly at the moderate campfire she'd lit earlier. The heat from the fire was welcome after their long day's walk from the site of Daniel's ruins. Now that they weren't moving, the chill of the evening was creeping up into their mountain perch. She knew she'd be snuggled deep into her sleeping bag when she turned in after her watch later. Absently she took the emotional temperature of her team, something that had become second nature to her. Daniel seemed content enough, scribbling in his journal and muttering to himself. Teal'c . . . well, he seemed as he always did. Even . . . calm. A rock. The Colonel . . . Sam frowned slightly.

The fire popped again as her CO added another gnarled log to the flames, then he poked and prodded the burning logs around to make room for the new fuel. She could see that he was restless . . . could feel it. He'd been just a bit . . . off . . . since their last mission. Aris Boch's capture of the team had frustrated him. Then Teal'c had sacrificed himself for a, in O'Neill's words, " _Snake._ " He'd said the word so bitterly that Sam had been startled.

Teal'c's low voice rumbled across the crackling fire. "I do not understand your confusion, O'Neill. Would you not have gone in place of one of us?"

The Colonel jammed the tip of his fire poking stick into the embers, his movements sharp, angry. "Well, yes. Of course. For one of _you_." He ran his hands through his air, shooting Sam a look of appeal. "But . . . for a . . . a . . . _snake_?"

"It was, in fact, for the greater good, O'Neill."

"Yeah, whatever." The Colonel huffed slightly, then leaned back against his tree, his long legs stretched out in front of him.

Sam watched as he mimicked her movements of earlier, pulling his jacket closed and zipping it up to the collar. Unlike her, however, he jammed his hat low on his head and turned his gaze toward the fire, crossing his arms across his chest. His entire body was screaming 'don't talk to me' to anyone who would listen.

Sam caught Teal'c's eye and shrugged, then began cleaning up the remnants of her dinner. Teal'c offered her a slight bow before rising and silently moving off into the night.

"Let me, Sam. I'm gonna head to bed." Daniel stooped to pick up her trash, then glanced past her to O'Neill. "You think he's okay?" he whispered, his voice pitched low.

Shrugging, she lifted her hands slightly, indicating her own uncertainty. Daniel patted her shoulder as he moved away, leaving Sam alone with her moody Colonel. She leaned back against her own tree and rested her head against the rough bark. The shimmering curtain of light dancing across the night sky reminded her of the aurora borealis on Earth. The presence of the lights on this planet piqued her interest and she wondered if the cause of the phenomenon on Earth was the same here; the interaction between the planet's magnetic field and solar wind. The nighttime display had been a surprise their first night on the planet, especially considering that this planet's sun was an F-type star, cooler that Earth's own sun.

So lost was she in her thoughts that she was startled by O'Neill's touch on her shoulder. "Sir!" Sam gasped, her hands automatically raised in defense.

"Easy, Carter." The Colonel dropped down beside her. "I called your name, but you were miles away."

Sam relaxed her hands, tucking them back into the pockets of her jacket. She saw that the Colonel had moved his gear closer and glanced questioningly at him. "Sir?"

O'Neill shrugged as he resettled himself beside her. "Wind is picking up, your tree is bigger." He gave her a small smile and then returned to his contemplation of the fire.

Sam studied him for a moment, watching the play of light across his chiseled features. The way the amber firelight lit his warm brown eyes. Eyes that were once again shadowed, troubled. She took a deep breath. Whatever was bothering him needed to be addressed, it was beginning to affect the team. It was her job as his Second to tackle the issue, and . . . truth be told, when he hurt, she hurt. She refused to examine that fact too deeply. Instead, she cleared her throat gently, then spoke. "Sir," she began, her voice quiet in the night.

"Carter?"

"Are . . . ah . . . is everything okay? I mean . . ." She shrugged. "You seem a bit . . . off. You know. Since last week."

Once again O'Neill began poking at the fire. This time, however, his movements were less angry. After a moment had looked over at her and gave her a small smile. "Drew the short straw, did you?"

"Sir?"

"Drew to see who'd 'bell the cat?'"

Smiling gently, Sam shook her head. "No, Colonel. My choice." She shrugged again and tapped her shoulder, indicating where her oak leaves would be if she were wearing a different uniform. "My job."

"Ah."

She wasn't sure, but Sam thought she heard a small tinge of disappointment color his voice. She hastily added, "And . . . my privilege. Sir."

"You consider it a privilege, Carter, to have your CO walking around, acting like a jackass?"

Sam tilted her head at him. "You're not acting like a jackass."

"Are you saying I _am_ a jackass?" O'Neill teased her slightly, relaxing a little more against the large tree.

"Colonel."

"Okay." This time the Colonel tossed his stick into the fire. He folded one leg and lifted the other so that he could rest his chin on his knee.

They sat silently together for a long moment, and Sam began to wonder if he would answer her original question. She was opening her mouth to speak when his soft voice stopped her.

"I just don't get it, you know?"

"Get what?" Sam's voice matched his, quiet in the deepening night. The swish of the quickening wind through the trees and the crackle of the fire were the only other sounds, both serving to cover the snores she knew Daniel was making just feet from where they sat.

"How he could just . . . give himself up like that, you know?"

"It's . . . well, that's Teal'c."

"They're always so willing to die."

"Who, Sir?"

"The Jaffa." O'Neill shifted and turned to face her. "You notice that?"

Sam nodded. She had noticed that almost every plan they'd had that involved Bra'tac or other Jaffa always had an element of "we die nobly today" in it. She, like her Colonel, preferred plans with better outcomes. "Yes, Sir." She studied him closely, knowing there was more to his mood than this. "But . . . Colonel, I don't–"

"He's got a son." O'Neill turned his gaze back toward the fire.

"Aris Boch? Yes, or so he said."

"No, I meant Teal'c."

Puzzled, Sam tilted her head. "Yes," she said, slowly drawing out the word. Something more was going on here and she wasn't quite seeing it. Drawing in another breath she reached out and laid her hand on his arm. Giving it a gentle shake to get his attention, she said, "Sir. What's wrong. Really?"

"He's got someone, Sam. Someone who looks to him. Why would he be so eager to . . ." And O'Neill trailed off.

 _Oh_.

She had the sudden urge to take his hand, to offer some comfort, and she knew she couldn't. Shouldn't. Sam closed her eyes for a long moment, at a loss for what to say next.

"Can I ask you something?" Her Colonel's voice was quiet, almost tentative.

"Yes, Sir. Anything."

"Do you think Dad would have gone off, left you alone, 'for the greater good?'"

"I don't know, Sir. I think you'd have to ask him." Sam mirrored O'Neill's pose, leaning forward to rest her chin on her own raised knee. "I think . . . now . . . the situations are different, Sir. I think we're talking apples and oranges."

"Or Jaffa and Tau'ri."

She gave him a soft smile. "Yes, Sir. Dad would do that _now_ , knowing what he knows and with Mark and me being grown. So . . . yes. He would. Would he have done it when we were Ry'ac's age?" Sam shrugged. "Hard to say. We'd already lost my mom, so . . . I guess I'd have to say, no." She paused again, hoping she was making the right choice. "But, Colonel, Ry'ac is not alone. Wouldn't be alone. Not if something happened to Teal'c. He's got his mother. Bra'tac. Us . . . ah, I mean SG1"

The Colonel scrubbed his hands over his face, rubbing his eyes tiredly for a long moment. "You're right. I know. And I know Teal'c doesn't make those choices lightly. But I just . . ."

Once again Sam was overwhelmed by the urge to reach out to him, to comfort him, and this time her hand moved before her mind could stop it. She pulled off her glove and laid her fingers on the bit of skin showing between his glove and the edge of his jacket. Sliding her fingers around his wrist, she gave in to the need to comfort. To connect. She swallowed hard, knowing she was treading on dangerous ground, but hoping she'd read him correctly. "You've lost a son and you don't want to see a son lose his father."

His face still turned toward the fire, O'Neill sucked in a loud breath, then slowly turned his hand. He, too, pulled a hand free of his glove and then wrapped his warmer fingers around Sam's colder ones. She watched as he blinked rapidly, her own eyes filling with the tears he could not shed. Finally, his voice gruff, O'Neill muttered, "Yeah, something like that."

"Sir." Sam tugged his hand until he turned toward her. She struggled to find words and failing to come up with anything, just began to speak. "I'm probably not the best person to, well. . . you know. Not having kids and all." She looked at him to find his eyes on hers, then she shrugged and sighed, releasing his hand and leaning back against her part of the tree. "I can't really begin to understand the whole 'fathers and sons' thing. Dad wanted a boy, you know."

Her last words, delivered so quietly, almost slipped unnoticed into the night wind. O'Neill, however, clearly heard them because he turned away from the fire to face her fully. "Ah . . . I'm sorry, Carter. But don't you have a brother?"

Sam offered him a slightly pained smile. She hadn't really meant to say that last, it had just slipped out. "Yes, I do." She shot him a small smile, hoping he'd let it go.

"So . . ." Understanding chased away the confusion in O'Neill's eyes. "He's younger."

"Yes."

"You think he was disappointed? To get you first, I mean?"

Sam shifted, suddenly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken. Slipping her hand back into her glove she hunched forward, not meeting O'Neill's gaze.

"Sam?"

She looked up to find his warm gaze on her, his eyes open and inviting. "It's probably my imagination. But . . . I always wondered, you know? He got his son, but that son despises everything that Dad lives by. Duty to country. Then he's got me, the daughter that doesn't fulfill his ideal."

O'Neill's face reflected his shock at her words. His disbelief. Sam looked away, biting her lip. She felt terrible. She'd meant to comfort him and instead, her own insecurities, thought long buried, had surfaced. She really hadn't meant to turn this to be about her. Looking up at him again, she caught her breath at the expression on his face. Softly she asked, "Sir?"

"I'm sorry, Sam."

His words made her feel worse and Sam blinked back tears. "No, Sir. _I'm_ sorry. I don't know where that came from. I wanted to help you and–" A warm finger against her lips stopped her. She was distracted by the rough texture of his calluses against the softness of her lips. Despite her roiling emotions, she clamped down on the sudden, wild urge to test that texture with her tongue. O'Neill's voice helped her focus

"You did help, Carter. You did."

She met his gaze and felt her heart stutter as he became aware of just where his finger lay. His eyes darkened and his nostrils flared slightly, and she was certain she heard him inhale sharply. Sam held his gaze as he slowly dropped his hand, his fingertip pulling slightly at her bottom lip before falling away altogether. Her mouth stayed open slightly, the cool night air serving to cool her insides as much as her outside.

The fire suddenly popped loudly behind O'Neill, causing them both to jump. The Colonel quirked a slight smile at her, then turned himself around, feet extended, back against their shared tree.

Sam, her face still flushed and her pulse jumping wildly, forced herself to breathe deeply, trying to regain her equilibrium. One brief touch of his finger against her lips and she'd just about unraveled. This was _not_ how a Second was supposed to support her CO, she told herself fiercely. Needing a distraction, she rapidly began to calculate the decay rate of Naquadah in a variable field array. O'Neill settled himself beside her, his shoulder brushing hers, the simple contact sending all thoughts of calculations to scatter amidst the stunning dancing lights above them.

She gave up. Letting out a long, slow breath, Sam stretched her legs out beside his. She let herself relax against the warmth of his shoulder against her, giving herself permission to enjoy the feeling of being near him. They weren't allowed much, so she would take this.

"Carter?" O'Neill's quiet voice was warm, soothing.

"Sir?"

"I'm really glad your Dad had a girl first." He nudged her shoulder with his, his warm body blocking the cold wind.

"I am too, Sir."

End.


	9. Remembering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: New Campfire. Enjoy.

  
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A/N: New Campfire. Enjoy.

Set after _Demons_ on a planet of my own making.

 _  
**Remembering**   
_

"Daniel, stop fidgeting."

"I'm not, I'm . . . damn. Sam, can you scratch my back?"

"Daniel, my hands are full, just . . . I don't know, rub against the rocks?" Carter growled at Daniel, carefully stepping around him as she crossed their narrow campsite.

Jack looked up in surprise; Carter was normally not so abrupt with their archaeologist. "Carter, you okay?" He watched as she shrugged in response, her hands full of wood and twigs for the fire Teal'c was nursing. O'Neill waited a long moment, before asking again, his voice tighter. "Major?"

Carter glanced over at him and nodded, then responded quietly, "Yes, Colonel. I'm fine." She took a deep breath and looked over at Daniel, clearly making an effort. "Daniel, are you okay?"

"No," he responded, his tone petulant. Squirming again, Daniel reached for one of the small twigs and carelessly jammed it down his back. "I'm serious, guys, I'm really itching here!"

Teal'c, seeing the look of dismay on Carter's face, spoke up. "Daniel Jackson. I believe that Major Carter walked a long way to procure wood for our fire. You should return what you have taken."

Jack watched Daniel glance from Teal'c to Carter, then slowly pull the stick out of his collar. He carefully reached out and handed the branch to Carter, wincing slightly as she took it from him. Even in the gathering darkness O'Neill could see Carter's stony expression. What was with her tonight? Granted, Daniel's increasing irritability and fidgeting were getting on his nerves, but he was surprised to see the man's behavior affecting his normally steady Second. Jack shot Daniel a quelling look as the younger man opened his mouth. He rose and began pulling items out of their packs, looking for the food packets he was carrying. Maybe Carter just needed to eat, God knew he did.

Carefully picking his way along the narrow ledge upon which they'd perched for the night, Jack stepped close to the fire and tapped Carter's shoulder. "Hey. I've good food if you've got water ready."

"Yes, Sir." Carter's voice was low, tense.

Jack saw her glance at Daniel and frown slightly, then turn her attention to poking the fire. The site they'd chosen, the only shelter they'd been able to find, was a narrow fissure in the towering cliffs that surrounded the barren plain across which they'd hiked all day. It had been Teal'c who'd spotted the suddenly towering storm clouds, and Teal'c too, had found their shelter, such as it was. Jack didn't like being camped like this, a long, narrow opening where they'd only be able to sleep end-to-end. The only good things about the shelter were that it seemed to be overgrown above, effectively keeping the blowing cold rain from them, and the crease ended about seventy-five feet from the opening. Jack had carefully paced the length of their makeshift shelter, his senses alert for anyone . . . or any _thing . . ._ also looking to get in out of the rain.

As Carter brushed past him and Daniel, the archaeologist leaned forward, awkwardly trying to scratch his back again. Unfortunately he'd chosen to move just as Carter was stepping over him, at that awkward transition point. Daniel's sudden movement knocked Carter's hip and with a startled shout she tipped sideways, her hands flailing blindly for something to stop her fall. Teal'c sprang to help, but Jack was closer. He stood and reached out, grabbing Carter's nearer hand and yanking hard, trying to keep her from falling into the fire.

"Ooof!"

"Oh!"

"Oh . . . ow . . ."

"DANIEL!" Both officers' shouts echoed through the narrow space and Daniel, whose mouth was wide open with shock, now snapped his jaw closed, his face flushed with anger and embarrassment.

"Look, I'm _sorry_!" He started to lever himself up, but stopped when Teal'c pressed a hand to his shoulder.

Jack was acutely aware of his Second lying sprawled across his body. They'd fallen backward into the fissure, by some miracle falling in line with the opening. They were far enough back that Jack's shoulders were wedged against either side of the narrow space. By some miracle Jack had managed to not only avoid hitting _his_ head on the way down, but he'd instinctively cradled Carter's too. He still hand one hand locked around the wrist he'd grabbed, and his other hand gently cradled her head against his chest, protecting her as they both fell. The contrast of her soft curves against the front of him jarred with the pressure of the small rock digging slowly into his hip. For her part, Carter hadn't yet moved, and Jack felt her breath coming in sharp gasps.

"Hey, you okay?"

"Sir? I'm _so_ sorry. I–"

"Carter. Not your fault. Just . . ." Jack suddenly realized that he was sliding his fingers through her soft hair, his fingers easing up and around her ear to touch . . . to caress . . . her cheek. He froze, and then lifted his head slightly to catch her eye. "Um, what are you doing?" Carter was wiggling, her movements becoming increasingly frantic. She shifted and her knee jabbed uncomfortably close to parts of himself that O'Neill still felt might be of value. "Whoa!" Jack pressed her head firmly to his chest, stilling her movements. "Wait. Carter. Just . . ." Jack took a deep breath, then called out, "T! Can you help us out here?"

"Great," Carter mumbled into his chest.

"Hey, relax." Jack listened as Teal'c moved closer. "You gonna tell me what's got you so wound up today?" He again relaxed his grip on her as she lifted her head, her blue eyes shadowed in the darkness. There was just enough light for Jack to make out the tense lines of her face, the pucker in her forehead that usually meant to him 'Carter's pissed.' Her eyes dropped from his and he felt her sigh. Felt it as she blew out a breath across his neck and chest, and felt it with his body. She seemed, for just a second, to go limp against him.

Just as she opened her mouth, Teal'c's question stopped her. Jack immediately felt her tense against him.

"Major Carter. I am going to pull your feet. Are you prepared?"

"I am, Teal'c."

"I'll expect an answer later. Sam." His pause was deliberate but Jack's quiet words were nearly lost in the rustle of cloth against rock as Teal'c pulled his Second from him. Jack watched her slide down his body, trying desperately to ignore the sensations the movement caused in him, the wonder as his body discovered the feel of Samantha Carter covering him from neck to toe. And the greater wonder as she slid down his length, her hands carefully kept away from him as she slid. She caught his eye again as Teal'c pulled her free, her expression inscrutable. Once she was clear, Teal'c leaned carefully in and extended a hand toward him. Jack frowned as he heard the fabric of his overshirt catch and tear against a particularly jagged outcropping, but was grateful that it was his shoulder that had found the rock and not either of their heads.

Once free of his unexpected "wedging," Jack shook himself and brushed the lingering dust from his trousers and shirt. "Daniel," he growled, noting the man squirming and wiggling against the wall on the other side of the fire. "What the hell is _wrong_ with you today!"

Daniel glanced from Jack to Teal'c then over at Sam who was studiously opening her now heated meal. He frowned at his team, his face still red. "I'm telling you, I _itch_!" He tried again to reach his back, then gave up, choosing instead to jam it against the cavern wall, crossing his arms in frustration and rubbing them across his chest.

Jack frowned, noting the younger man's flushed face and increased agitation. He looked at Teal'c and then at Carter, who was watching Daniel, her expression now more puzzled than irritated. "Carter, flashlight."

"Here, Sir."

Jack took it from her and knelt close to Daniel, laying a hand on the man's head. "Hey. Sit still for a second, okay?"

"I can't, Jack!"

Now Daniel's voice was almost a whine and Jack became more concerned. He glanced over at Carter and smiled as he saw that she already had the med kit open and was pulling out a thermometer. Taking it from her he held it in front of Daniel. "Open." When Daniel opened his mouth, Jack popped the thermometer into it, then pushed his jaw closed around it. "Shirt. Off." Not waiting, Jack signaled to Teal'c and together they unbuttoned the BDU overshirt. Jack pushed Daniel around and lifted the black t-shirt. He let out a long, slow whistle at what he saw.

Spots.

Lots and lots of spots.

"Wht . . . wht dye swee?" Daniel's words were distorted as he tried to speak around the thermometer.

"Oh, Daniel."

Carter's voice was soft in Jack's ear as she spoke. He looked up to find her leaning one hand against the cave wall for support, the other balanced on his shoulder as she realized what he did.

"WHT!" Daniel's voice was panicked now.

"Chicken pox."

"What!" Spitting out the thermometer, Daniel tried to turn to see his own back.

Jack pushed him back, gesturing for Teal'c to replace the thermometer. Glancing again at Carter he raised an eyebrow. She nodded in return, confirming his thoughts. "Yep. Chicken pox. You must have picked them up from, what was her name?"

"Mary," Carter supplied.

"Yup. On good old P-whatever. Didn't think you liked it enough to bring back a souvenir."

Teal'c held the thermometer firmly in Daniel's mouth, preventing his answer. "I did not like that place, O'Neill."

Jack heard Carter's sharp intake of breath as she moved back. Of course Teal'c hadn't liked the place. The Canon had tried, several times, to kill Teal'c before they'd escaped. "Sorry, T," he muttered. He reached around and pulled the thermometer out and, tilting it toward the fire, swore softly. "Damn."

"Sir?"

"Oh, we're in for a long night, Major." He handed the gauge to her for cleaning, catching her eye as she read the temperature. She echoed his grimace. Yup, it was going to be a very long night.

SJ• SJ• SJ• SJ• SJ• SJ• SJ• SJ• SJ• SJ• SJ• SJ• SJ• SJ

Jack woke quickly, sure he'd heard something. He cocked his head in the darkness and listened, carefully keeping his breathing steady should anyone be watching him. There it was again. A groan and the whisper of cloth against stone. Damn. Daniel was scratching again. The red spots that covered the younger man's back had quickly spread to his chest, arms, neck and legs. Jack was sure other parts of Daniel were just as covered, but none of his team had needed to look to be certain. They'd slathered him with as much calamine as they had in the kits, but now at . . . Jack pressed the button on his watch to light it up, frowning at the time. Just after 0030. Yup. The meds they'd given him had to have worn off by now.

Next to him, her head close to where his had lain, Carter stirred. "Sir?" She whispered into the darkness, not wanting to disturb Teal'c where he sat, closest to the front of their shelter, deep in kel'no'reem.

Jack bent low to speak to her, more acutely aware of her distinct scent in the tight confines of this space than ever before. "It's Daniel. I'm gonna have to step around you, Carter, can you . . ." Jack stopped as he felt her hand on his arm.

"I'm up, Sir," she whispered. "I'll go."

Despite knowing she couldn't see him in the darkness, Jack nodded. He could make out her shape, blurry against the still-glowing embers of their now defunct fire. Taking a mental inventory of their remaining medical supplies, he knew she'd have nothing to give Daniel to relieve his itching. Well, hell. He was up too. Jack pushed himself to his feet and joined her at the small fire ring, watching as she dug through the kit.

"There's no more lotion, Colonel. I'm going to give him the last of the T-3. Maybe it'll help him sleep?"

"You go ahead, Carter. I have an idea."

Jack fished inside his own pack, smiling slightly when he encountered a small Tupperware container filled with chocolate and marshmallows. He set that aside and dug deeper. He was sure he had . . . ah. There. Pulling out the packet, he laid that atop the Tupperware and began prodding the embers awake. After adding the last of their wood, Jack poured some water into the small, collapsible pot they'd used after dinner to heat water for coffee and tea. As Carter rejoined him he poured the contents of his packet into the pot, stirring slowly as he set it aside.

"Sir?"

"Oatmeal."

Carter cocked her head curiously. "Hungry, Colonel?"

Jack grinned at her. "Nope. We're gonna put this on Daniel's spots. Help him stop itching." He kept stirring, adding some cool water from the canteen to speed up the process a bit. Glancing up, he saw her puzzled stare. As nonchalantly as possible, he offered, "When Charlie was seven he got chicken pox. Really bad." Jack shrugged. "My mom said this was better than any medicine."

Carter was silent for a moment, then very softly, she said, "My . . . my mom said the same thing."

Jack stopped stirring and turned, his eyes seeking and holding hers. She blinked back tears as she continued. "I . . . that's what was bugging me today." She shrugged slightly against his shoulder. "Not my mom, I mean. But . . . Daniel. He reminded me of Mark. When Mark got sick." Carter chuckled wryly. "Got the chicken pox. I should have realized. He, Mark, I mean. He was extra cranky and irritable all day. And the whining . . ." She trailed off, her shudder making her shoulder brush Jack's again. "God, I was so _sick_ of hearing him whine."

Jack wasn't sure if her last comment was about Mark or Daniel. He stood, pot in hand, and waved Carter over the small fire, stepping after her. They rolled the now sleeping Daniel onto his stomach and Carter slowly lifted the black t-shirt to give him access. Jack reached in and began spreading the mushy, grey paste-like food over Daniel's spotted back, his movements gentle and light. After a minute, Carter reached in to help.

"So," he whispered, "what happened?"

"Well, we were at the park when he started, and I was so mad. I refused to bring him home. Then he finally threatened to go without me and I knew Dad would skin me if he did that. So I brought him home. Mom took one look at him and . . ." Carter shrugged, then chuckled. "Oh, he was _so_ sick. I felt really bad, then." She stopped and looked down at their sleeping teammate. "Like now. I just . . . I really don't do whining very well."

They'd finished with Daniel's back and Jack waved her back toward the fire. He covered the pot, thinking they'd use the remainder in the morning. _Later_ in the morning, he thought with another look at his watch. He laid himself back down in his bag and watched as Carter settled herself down again, her head again near his, her feet toward the fire. Jack's feet were pointing toward the cavern's entrance, and just beyond his boots he could just make out the outline of Teal'c, a solid and comforting bulwark against the world outside.

"You get 'em too?"

"No. I'm immune, it turns out. Found that out during Academy vaccinations."

They were quiet for a moment, then Jack asked, "So . . . Mom made oatmeal?"

"Yes." Carter's answer was quiet, as if she were thinking hard about something. Her next words confirmed it. "Sir, back on the planet. In the village. That's why you recognized chicken pox. Because of . . . Charlie?" She hesitated, as if almost afraid to say the boy's name.

"It's okay, Carter. You can say his name." Jack rolled onto his stomach, resting his chin on his hands. "Yup. Raging case." Jack smiled at the memories that suddenly flowed through him and he found that he really _wanted_ , for the first time since Charlie's death, to talk about him. "He was such a funny little guy, you know? Oh, he tried every trick in the book to get me to scratch his 'itchy pockets,' as he called them."

Carter turned and laid her head on her crossed arms, her face turned toward him. The newly rebuilt fire cast just enough light to kiss her features with a golden hue, sending flickering shadows across her smooth features. She kept her eyes on his, encouraging him to continue. "Itchy pockets? Sounds like somebody I know." She gave him a gentle smile.

"Yeah." Jack sighed. "Anyway. I was at my wit's end. Sara was stuck in Oklahoma. A conference. I was literally tearing my hair out. Finally, in desperation, I called my mom. She suggested the oatmeal since I couldn't just run out to the store. Couldn't leave him alone."

"How do moms know?"

"You know what, Carter? I don't know." He chuckled softly. "But she did. Like yours did. And it sure did work."

They were silent for a long moment and then Carter's low voice broke the stillness. "I . . . I wonder, sometimes . . ."

"What?"

"If I have what it takes?" Her voice was so quiet he had to lean close to hear her. "I mean . . . God I was so frustrated with Mark, making me take him home and the kid was sick. And today . . . Daniel . . . it was the same thing again." Her elbow bumped his as she shrugged in the darkness.

"Carter . . ." Jack paused, wanting to say the right thing, but afraid of saying too much. "You mean, you're wondering if you have what it takes to be somebody's mother?"

"Yes. I just . . . I really _hate_ whining. Sir."

Jack grinned into the darkness. "Of course you do, Carter. Nobody in their right mind _likes_ whining." He deliberately bumped her arm and was rewarded with a soft chuckle.

"I know that. I just . . . I didn't know about the oatmeal thing. I mean . . . I did know but I'd forgotten. What if I don't remember when I need to? When it's my . . . you know."

Jack wanted to tell her that that was what moms were for, to help with things like that, but . . . not for Carter. She would have no one to call. Oh, he had no doubt at all that she'd be an amazing mother, brilliant. The best. She'd probably read every baby book known to man, maybe even write a few. He forced away the sudden bright and beautiful image of a very pregnant Samantha Carter smiling at him, reaching for him. When he spoke, his voice was rougher than he'd like, betraying him when the darkness would have hidden his feelings.

"Sam," he whispered, "I have no doubt that when the time comes, you'll be an amazing mother. And," he swallowed hard, "you know you can always call . . . someone . . . if you get stuck. To remind you."

Carter's voice was a breathy sigh between them. "Thank you," she paused, "'Someone,'" she breathed, her voice shaking slightly.

"Anytime." Jack reached out to pat her arm, then let his hand linger there, unable to bring himself to move it. The memory of Charlie and his 'itchy pockets,' of spreading oatmeal on his boy's squirmy little body and sharing that remembrance with Carter, had affected him more than he'd thought. He needed the comfort. Needed to connect. He felt her shift under his hand and, when he started to pull it away was startled to feel her cheek slide across his fingers to rest there. He heard her sigh and then listened as her breathing evened out in the steady cadence of sleep, her cheek still atop his hand, her breath moist against his wrist and forearm.

"Anytime," he whispered again, lowering his own weary head to rest on his forearm. As Jack slipped into sleep, his mind filled with images. His boy, laughing in the sunlight, wiggling in his arms, hugging him tightly. And later, another squirming boy in his arms, familiar bright blue eyes sparkling up at him. An echo of laughter weaving through his dreams.

End.

Afterword: Okay, before I get whapped by someone, yes, you can, in fact, get chicken pox as an adult. In fact, "Adults who have not had chickenpox or the chickenpox vaccine are just as likely to develop chickenpox as children" ((http (colon slash, slash) chickenpox (dot) emedtv (dot) com (slash) chickenpox (slash) adult-chickenpox (dot) html)). I really got chastised when I wrote _Fever_ , folks claiming you couldn't get meningitis as an adult.

I do a great deal of research before I write, so . . . ::shrug:: Whatever. Just a pre-emptive note here.


	10. Battle Lines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: New Campfire. Enjoy. Extra special thanks and cookies to Leiasky for her zippy-fast beta and deadly accurate comments. Feedback rules.

  
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A/N: New Campfire. Enjoy. Extra special thanks and cookies to Leiasky for her zippy-fast beta and deadly accurate comments. Feedback rules.

Set after _Rules of Engagement_ on a planet of my own making. At a reader's request, I am adding the episode synopsis from GateWorld: SG-1 discovers a military camp where young men are trained to impersonate SGC personnel to infiltrate Earth. They also discover the fate of the lost SG-11 team.

 _  
**Battle Lines**   
_

_The still air was rent by the sharp report of seven rifles firing their last volley, the cracks echoed across the rolling hills surrounding her. Sam suppressed the automatic flinch at the sound as she, along with her team and many, many others, snapped a crisp final salute as the honor guard began crisply folding the flag. Behind Sam and her team, standing on a low rise under a tree, a lone bugler began to play Taps. Four F-15's approached from the south, the scream of their jets swallowing the last echoes of the bugler's salute. She kept her eyes forward but was aware of what was happening overhead. She heard Major Fleming's mother's sharp intake of breath as the second element flight leader pulled his craft sharply up and away from the formation, disappearing into the golden sunset, leaving behind a hole…the missing man. Sam knew the visual was a powerful one, something she'd seen before...too many times in recent days. When the roar of the jets faded, Sam dropped her arm back to her side and turned to follow her CO as he approached the grieving family._

A loud pop, accompanied by a shower of sparks, jerked Sam from her memories of that last service. They, SG-1, had made it a point to be at the funerals of every member of that lost team. She thought again of the poignancy of that moment, when that jet peeled away from his position to the right of his leader to be lost in the golden haze of sunset. It brought home to her, as did no other symbol, just how permanent, how devastating, was the loss of a loved one. The hole in that formation so often mirrored the hole left in a mother, a father, a wife, a husband, a lover, a friend. She glanced around, wondering of anyone had noticed her distraction. Teal'c was standing watch, she could just barely discern his bulky outline against the trees beyond. The Colonel and Daniel were playing chess on Daniel's mini board, and Sam bit back a smile when she heard some of the more outrageous "O'Neill" rules being debated.

Settling herself more comfortably on her wadded up jacket, Sam poured herself another cup of tea, trying to get her mind to settle. She hadn't known the members of SG-11 very well. Only Kelly Andrews, really, and only because Andrews had been two years behind her at the Academy. In fact, Sam remembered, she hadn't even realized they'd been there at the same time until Andrews had mentioned it about a month after she'd transferred in.

" _Major Carter?"_

 _Sam paused at the t-junction of the hallway, carefully balancing her cup of coffee and the stack of lab reports she was carrying with the bagel she'd snagged off of Daniel's plate. She was keeping her promise to her CO to eat regularly, she thought, as she turned to greet the woman who'd called her name. "Yes. Can I help you with something?"_

 _The petite brunette held out her hand, then stopped, grinning as she realized there was no way Carter could return the courtesy. "Captain Kelly Andrews." She paused, then continued, "We, ah, were at the Academy together?"_

 _Sam searched her memory as she tried to free a hand. "I'm sorry, Captain. I don't remember."_

 _Andrews gave Sam a grin. "Well, I was two years behind you, Major. You probably don't remember me, but I remember you. You and Major Kennedy reviewed my preliminary thesis proposal . . ."_

" _Oh!" Sam glanced around and then, shrugging, simply set the folders and coffee on the floor, then rose and shook the woman's hand. "Of course! I'm so sorry. Yes. You're the math wiz!" She watched the younger woman blush and then grimace slightly. Sam offered her own smile in return and apologized. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't say that. I hate when people –"_

" _Call you the wormhole genius?" Andrews shook her head, her eyes dancing with laughter._

" _Yeah, something like that." Sam bent to pick up her coffee and Andrews stepped forward to pick up the stacked files. "Thanks. You just transfer in?"_

" _Yes!"_

 _Sam chuckled at the unalloyed delight in the woman's voice. "You'll love it here, I think. Where have you been assigned?" She began walking to her lab, Andrews at her side._

" _Um, SG-11. I'm under Fleming."_

" _Terry's a good guy. You'll like him."_

" _Any tips, Major? Some advice? You know, one geek to another?" Andrews paused suddenly, her eyes wide. "No disrespect intended, ma'am."_

 _Sam slid her keycard into the lock on her lab door, then waved the woman inside. "It's okay, no offense taken. Without us geeks, there'd be no Internet, right? Just set that stuff over there." Setting her coffee aside she waved Andrews to the only other empty seat in the room, the one she purposely kept clear for her CO, when he took it in his head to wander by. "Let's see . . . advice." She shrugged and met the younger woman's gaze squarely. "When you make a decision, stick to it. Don't waver. Um . . . always be straight-up with your CO. And the usual, you know."_

 _Andrews nodded. "Yeah, I know. Don't get 'involved' with your team, keep your distance, et-cetera, et-cetera, et-cetera." The last part of her comment took on a Yul Brenner-like intonation._

 _Sam stilled, then cocked her head to one side. "No . . ." she drew out the word, thinking hard. "I mean, yes." She saw Andrews' confused look. "I mean . . . you'll not be able to help it. Caring. Getting involved." Sam looked up and could see Andrews trying to sort out what she was saying, and she shrugged. "I'm probably messing this up. But what I mean is, you'll be a team. A really tight team. How tight is up to you. To each of you. You have to open yourself up to some degree to achieve a level of trust. To know that, no matter_ what _, your team will come for you._ ALWAYS. _You know?"_

 _Andrews nodded, her eyes dark and thoughtful. "Can I ask you a really personal question, Ma'am?"_

 _Sam studied the woman for a long minute before answering. "Sure. Can't guarantee I'll answer, but . . . go ahead."_

" _How do you draw the line? How do you . . . I don't know . . . keep it the way it's supposed to be?"_

 _The lab was quiet, the only sounds the occasional whirring of her laptop's hard drive as it cycled once in a while. Sam carefully considered her answer, examining her own experiences and trying to put into words that which she only knew instinctively. "You know what, Captain? I don't really know. I think you just . . ._ know _."_

 _Before Andrews could answer the phone on Sam's desk rang, interrupting the moment. When Sam looked up, Andrews was gone. She'd left a small note of thanks and an invitation for coffee._

"Carter?"

Sam looked up from her now very cold cup of tea to find O'Neill crouched before her, his eyes dark with concern.

"You okay?"

"Hmm?" They'd never had a chance to get that coffee, she remembered. Andrews had been on SG-11 for just over a year and Sam had never managed to find the time. An entire year before they...and she'd never found time for her. _Damn_.

"Carter!"

Her CO's tone was sharper, forcing Sam's full attention back to him. Sam shook her head to clear it. "I'm sorry, Sir. Did you want me for something?"

O'Neill said nothing, simply staring at her for a long, full moment. He finally pivoted and sat himself down on the ground beside her, wiggling until he had claimed at tiny portion of her jacket for himself. "No, Carter. I don't _want_ anything. I'm trying to find out where you went."

Glancing around, Sam saw that both Daniel and Teal'c were gone. She looked to the edge of camp and instead of Teal'c's solid presence she spotted Daniel, his glasses reflecting the fire and glowing somewhat eerily in the darkness, the glow winking in and out as he turned his head to scan the darkness beyond. "What . . . what time is it, Colonel?"

"Just past midnight. Teal'c's watch is ended, Daniel's up and you're next. I figured it was high time you went off to bed." He bumped her shoulder gently. "'Course, if I interrupted some new kind of Carter kel'no'reem, then . . ."

"Hmm? No. I was just thinking . . . you know. About SG-11. Fleming. Andrews. You know." She felt him sigh beside her, his shoulder rising and falling against hers.

"Yeah. Tough week."

"It was." Sam sighed again, the soft sound lost in the rising night breeze. "Sir? Did you know Fleming? Or any of Eleven?"

O'Neill's voice was low, and when he answered his voice had a cautious, almost careful tone to it. "Some. I...I met with Fleming the week before their last mission. Had a few drinks at O'Malley's."

Sam was surprised. She knew, or thought she did, her CO fairly well. He rarely went out "with the guys" for drinks. Even when SG-1 went out they tended to go only for dinner. "Oh. I guess I didn't know you were such good friends."

O'Neill grunted as he leaned forward and shoved another gnarled branch onto the fire. "Didn't say we were friends, Carter. Just that Fleming and I had a beer."

"Oh." Sam fiddled with her mug before finally pouring the cold tea onto the edge of the fire. "Andrews and I were at the Academy together, though I didn't remember 'til she told me."

"Damn."

O'Neill was silent and Sam suddenly noticed that he was still.

Very still.

O'Neill was _never_ still, not that she could remember. He always fidgeted with something; a pen, yo-yo, intricate and delicate gadgets on her desk, artifacts from Daniel's desk...something. Something was wrong. "Colonel? Are you...is everything okay?"

The wind blew the curling smoke from their fire in a new direction, bringing tears to Sam's eyes. The Colonel coughed and raised his arm, waving the smoke away. When her eyes cleared Sam saw her CO looking at her, his gaze intense. "Sir?" She spoke softly.

"You know," he began, his voice slightly hoarse from coughing, "I was, ah, outside your lab that day." At Sam's confused look he continued. "The day Andrews introduced herself."

"Oh." She didn't really know what to say to that.

"You gave her good advice, Carter. In fact..." O'Neill stopped and turned away. He picked up a stick and poked restlessly at the fire.

"In fact?" Sam prompted.

O'Neill jammed the stick into the fire then cursed softly at the shower of sparks. "Yeah. In fact. That was the reason Fleming and I met at O'Malley's. He wanted some advice, too." He glanced over at Carter and she merely tilted her head, encouraging him to continue. "Seems he was feeling...things...about a team member that he felt he shouldn't." He couldn't hold her gaze and instead returned his attention to the fire.

"Oh." Sam gave a little laugh. "I seem to be saying that a lot tonight, huh? What'd you tell him, Colonel?"

"I...well, I borrowed some things from a wise Second that I'd overheard once."

"Did it work?"

"No."

"So . . . what happened?"

Again O'Neill turned to her, giving her a long, searching look. He glanced away for a second, and then back again. "He, Fleming, said that it was, ah, too late for the 'keep it professional' advice."

Sam opened her mouth to utter another 'oh,' then snapped her mouth shut. She stared at O'Neill, wondering just how far across that professional line Fleming had stepped. "With . . . Andrews?"

"Oh yeah."

"Wow," she breathed. Though she was disappointed and somewhat dismayed at the thought, at two respected team members disregarding the rules to the extent it appeared they had, in retrospect Sam couldn't really find it within her to begrudge them their . . . feelings.

"Yeah, 'wow.'"

Still holding his gaze, Sam asked softly, "What was going to happen?"

O'Neill looked away, his expression strained. "Fleming asked, on behalf of Captain Andrews, that she be reassigned. Said she would be filing the request herself when they returned." He again began prodding the fire and the two of them watched the sparks spiral and rise, swirling away on the night wind.

Blinking back a tear, Sam whispered, "And they never got the chance."

"Didn't they?"

His quiet question caught her off guard. What was he asking? Of course they hadn't gotten the chance to pursue anything, they'd been killed before . . . oh. _Oh_. Killed, yes, but not . . . _before_ . . . Sam leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and turning to catch her Colonel's gaze. She cleared her throat, surprised to find it tight with tears and sadness. "I tried to tell her, when she first came."

"You did."

"Guess the rumor mill had someone else to focus on for a while." She shrugged against his shoulder, glad of the contact, needing the comfort. "I . . . I'd wondered, later, if they'd . . . well, you know."

"I do."

"They took a chance." Sam paused, suddenly intently focused on her frayed bootlace. "I guess they took . . . _their_ . . . chance."

"They did." The Colonel slid one leg up and rested his chin on his knee, turning his face toward her.

Sam, as she did so often, mirrored his pose, drawing her own leg up and resting her cheek on her knee as she studied him. She needed these times, she realized. If she didn't get this quiet time with him, this . . . private time, she missed it. Missed him. The occasionally found these times when on Earth, but for the most part it was offworld travel that facilitated these oh-so-necessary to her wellbeing moments. She idly studied his fire lit features as she relaxed a little more, letting her mind go where it would.

She thought again of her one brief chat with Kelly Andrews, how she'd so blithely told the younger officer how to maintain that necessary–and required–professional distance. _Easier said than done_ , she finally acknowledged to herself. Advice easier given than it was to follow. Sam brought her attention back to the man before her, the man who meant so much to her . . . so much more than he probably should. Drawing in a slow breath, she savored the mixture of woodsy, smoky smell mixed with the tantalizing scent of her Colonel. That combination distracted her for a moment and she had to take another breath before speaking. "Those lines we draw, or that are drawn for us. Sometimes it's hard to know, where, or when–or if–to . . . to . . ."

"It is," He answered, his eyes on hers for a long moment before returning to the flames.

The flames kissed his square features, softening them in the flickering light, and Sam again found herself drifting. A voice broke the silence, a bare whisper in the night, and she was startled to realized that it was her own voice asking, "How did she know, do you think?"

O'Neill turned his head and met her gaze squarely, catching her off guard. Instead of looking away as she usually did, Sam kept her eyes on his. His expression, so often shuttered by humor and misdirection, was open now. He'd dropped everything, shields, humor, all of his regular defenses. The star-crossed story of their colleagues had shaken him, Sam realized, far more deeply that she'd understood before. His brown eyes held hers, the amber and gold flecks within reflecting the dancing firelight, almost glowing with their intensity. She was held there, frozen, captive to the intensity of his gaze. Sam gave herself up to it. To him. She too dropped the barriers she held so firmly and opened her eyes wide, allowing him in, just as he had invited her. Allowing, for just a moment, for him to see . . . perhaps to feel . . . what she did. What she fought against and what she suspected he already knew.

Her Colonel's voice was low, intense, when he responded. "She just . . . knew."

Sam sucked in a surprised breath, the intensity of the moment overwhelming her. Did he know he was echoing what she'd told Andrews? Was it intentional? Her heart thudded in her chest and she realized the hands that she'd wrapped around her leg were trembling. She felt herself flush with a heat borne more of the emotions that swamped her rather than from the fire before them. _Too far!_ Her mind jittered at her. _Fall back, fall BACK!_ Another part of her, a part she barely recognized, firmly silenced the panicking part of her brain, calmly marshalling the frantic thoughts into some semblance of order. She blew out a long, deliberately calming breath and consciously released her hands from their white-knuckled grip on each other. Flexing her fingers she shook them out, working feeling back into the tips. Finally breaking O'Neill's gaze she checked her watch and frowned slightly. She was too wired to sleep and had only an hour before she was to relieve Daniel.

Getting awkwardly to her feet, Sam found that she'd been sitting long enough to stiffen up. As she tilted sideways, a strong hand reached out to steady her, long fingers curling around her own. She stood frozen for a moment, balanced on one foot, the other bent as she stabilized, her hand held firmly by O'Neill.

"You okay . . . Sam?"

He was asking about more than her physical balance. Sometimes, Sam realized, he understood more of dynamic equilibrium than he ever let on. She wanted to say more and knew she shouldn't. _They_ shouldn't. Just as she knew she should release his hand, knew she shouldn't want to leave it there all night. The warmth of his palm, the feel of his calluses brushing against her knuckles. That single contact between them heightened the intensity of her feelings and she swore she felt a buzzing in her palm, a spark as she reluctantly pulled her fingers free of his. "Yes. I'm okay."

O'Neill shifted aside so she could retrieve her jacket, watching silently as she shook it out and shrugged it on. He nodded as she told him she was going to relieve Daniel early, that she was too wired to sleep. Just as she stepped around the fire, he stopped her. "Carter . . . are we . . . okay?"

Sam felt a gentle smile cross her lips as she turned and met his eyes across the campfire. "Yeah."

"Ya think?"

"I . . . know."

End.


	11. Between Hope and Fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: New Campfire. Enjoy. Feedback rules. Special thanks to Leiasky for the on-demand beta. Awesome work, pal.

  
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A/N: New Campfire. Enjoy. Feedback rules. Special thanks to Leiasky for the on-demand beta. Awesome work, pal.

Set during _Forever in a Day_ , an on-Earth campfire. At a reader's request, I am adding the episode synopsis from GateWorld: During a rescue of captured Abydonians, Daniel finds his missing wife, Sha're. But instead of greeting him, she attacks him—leading to her death at the hands of Teal'c. Distraught over her death and angry at Teal'c, Daniel quits Stargate Command.

 _  
**Between Hope and Fear  
**   
_

Shivering slightly, Sam inched closer to the fire the Colonel had built. Closer in size to a bonfire than a campfire, the flames did little to stop her body's shaking from the cold. The wind, it's voice holding a keen edge, was sharp as it laced through the trees around them, bending them before it. _It was nuts to sit out here, shivering in the cold_ , she thought. There was a perfectly good house perched behind her on the rise of the yard. _Then again_ , she thought as she settled further onto the worn cushion, _I have a perfectly good –and warm–house of my own to which I could go_. She could go . . . if she wanted to.

Ah, that was the rub, wasn't it?

"Cold, Carter?" O'Neill stepped around the bench, handing her a steaming mug. Once she had a good hold on it, he eased himself down beside her. From under his arm he pulled a worn and slightly tattered quilt. "Here, hold this a second." O'Neill gave over his own steaming mug and settled the quilt over both of them. Once he'd tucked it to his satisfaction, he retrieved his drink from her.

They sat, silently sipping their drinks, watching the wind whip the flames into a harsh and angry dance.

"Probably the last outdoor fire of the season, at least on Earth, Carter."

"Yes, Sir." She glanced over at him. "Thank you."

"For?"

"This." She gestured to the yard, the fire. "I . . . Daniel . . . you know."

"I do." O'Neill sipped again at his coffee, then met Sam's eyes. "I didn't really want to . . . well, it's nice to have company, Carter."

"How's Teal'c?"

O'Neill set his cup on the bench behind them and pulled the quilt higher. "He was going to kel'no'reem some. He'll be okay."

"And Daniel?" Sam was hesitant to bring it up, she knew how much her Colonel had been affected by the archaeologist's departure.

"Dunno." O'Neill caught the full-body shiver Sam couldn't quite conceal. "C'mere, Carter." He set her mug next to his and tugged her closer, lifting the edge of the quilt higher to cover them both.

Sam tensed as her pulled her closer. She shouldn't do this. Shouldn't want this, and definitely shouldn't need this. But she did. And . . . for tonight . . . she let herself take it. Daniel. God, poor Daniel. It was one thing to look for your lost loved one, but another to find her only to have her taken again. And so cruelly. And . . . she shuddered again . . . this time from a cold far more insidious than just the wind . . . by a friend.

Giving in to her need for comfort, and an instinctive need to comfort the man beside her, Sam slipped her arms inside of O'Neill's black leather jacket, wrapping them around his waist and ducking her head down and against his chest. She felt his arms tighten around her, felt his lips brush against her hair, then his breath against the back of her neck as he ducked his head lower. Warming her.

Comforting her.

Protecting her.

Sam shuddered again as she recognized the sensations flying through her. Too much. Way too much. She pulled back slightly, tucking her hands back into her own lap and sliding sideways until her head rested on O'Neill's shoulder. "I . . . I was thinking about Daniel. And Sha're. About how much . . ." She swallowed, afraid to voice what she was thinking.

"How much he loves her."

"Yes." Sam took a deep breath. "It's . . . well, this is crazy. Sir. I wonder. No. That's not right. I . . . envy him. In a weird way."

"Hmm?" O'Neill's query rumbled through Sam's cheek and shoulder where they rested against him.

"I've heard that old saying, you know. 'It's better to have loved and lost, than to never have loved at all.'" She leaned back and caught his eye. "I never really understood that, until now. Daniel . . . for as much as he hurts," and Sam closed her eyes against the memory of the pain on her friend's face. "As much as he hurts, I don't think he'd want to never have had that chance, you know?" She looked away toward the fire, then back at O'Neill, wondering if he understood.

"Yeah. I think . . . yeah."

Another blast of wind blew through O'Neill's yard and even he shivered, the warmth of the two of them together, with their coats and quilts just not enough to keep out the oncoming winter wind. O'Neill stood and pulled Sam to her feet. He turned her toward the house, wrapping her quickly from behind with the quilt. "Head on inside, Carter. I'll cover the fire. This is nuts."

Sam nodded, ducking her head against the sharp-edged, snapping wind as she stumbled on cold-stiffened legs to the Colonel's back porch. Once there, sheltered by the bulk of the darkened house, she stopped. She leaned against the rail and waited for O'Neill, unwilling to move into his home without him. They were treading a fine line, she knew. She shouldn't be here without the mitigating presence of their team, but it was the fracture of that very same team that drove her to accept O'Neill's stammered invitation earlier. Where she would have normally prevaricated and put him off, tonight she'd found herself unable to say no to his invitation to grab some food after they'd dropped the last of Daniel's things at his apartment. Dinner had led to a walk around old town, and the walk to a hesitantly asked, and equally hesitantly answered, suggestion of a backyard fire.

Behind her, the house shook again with another powerful gust and Sam sighed. She supposed it was Mother Nature's way of keeping them on track. It was hard to sit cozily at an outdoor fire when the wind threatened to blow you both into the next county. The wind masked the sounds of O'Neill's arrival, and Sam jumped when he tapped her on the arm.

"You okay?" He glanced from her to the house and back again. "Did I lock it?"

"No, Sir. I just didn't feel right just . . . going in."

"Carter," O'Neill growled as he slid his patio door open. "You're always welcome in my house. With or without me." Pulling her inside he led her straight through the kitchen and down into the living room. With a gentle shove he pushed her down onto the couch, then turned and bent over the fireplace, lighting the already-stacked logs quickly and efficiently. Once lit he turned back to her, apparently realizing that she was here, with him. Alone.

Sam wiggled out of the quilt and tried to rise. "Sir, I guess I should . . ."

"No." O'Neill waved her back. "If it's okay for us to sit outside by the fire and chat, then there's no reason we can't do the same inside. Stay there. I'm gonna get us more warm drinks."

Sam gave in. She knew she shouldn't and knew it was weak, but tonight . . . she couldn't bring herself to care. She slid her long leather coat off and tossed it aside, reaching again for the quilt. Easing herself off of the couch she sat in front of it, her back braced against its frame, her legs drawn up to her chin. She wrapped her arms around her legs and leaned her cheek against her knees, content to watch the fire and wait for its warmth to seep into her chilled body.

"What'cha thinkin' about now, Carter?"

She reached up to take the steaming mug from him, her hands brushing his as they so often did when they exchanged things. "Hmmm. More of the same, I guess. I . . . I wonder what it's like."

"What's like?" O'Neill grunted as he sat on the couch behind her, his right knee brushing her shoulder.

"Loving someone that much. Having someone love you that much." Sam's voice was quiet, almost dreamy as she voiced her thoughts, her eyes still intent on the fire, oblivious to the effect her words had on the man behind her. She turned her head to catch his eye. "I guess you'd know, though, wouldn't you?"

"Ah . . ."

O'Neill's eyes widened and Sam thought he looked like a deer caught in headlights. She waited for him to answer, wondering why he looked so shocked. "Sir? I mean . . . you've been married. And . . ." She stopped, not wanting to mention Charlie.

"Oh . . . that." O'Neill cleared his through and looked away. "Ah, yeah. It's . . ." He shrugged almost helplessly as he turned back to her.

Sam blew on her hot chocolate and nodded thoughtfully as she drank. "Yeah, I thought so." Turning back to the fire, she let her mind wander again. Daniel had had it. Teal'c too, in his wife and son. The Colonel had had that kind of love with both Sara and with his son. When would she have it? Would she? Was she losing her chance? Giving it up to . . . to . . . saving the world? Sadder now, and lonelier, Sam set her mug aside and laid her head back on the couch cushions. She leaned ever-so-slightly against the warmth of O'Neill's leg beside her, seeking the comfort she needed so desperately tonight. The in-your-face evidence of Daniel's pain had brought home to her just how empty her life was and . . . it hurt.

She felt the faintest stirring of the hair on the back of her head as the Colonel moved his fingers along the cushion behind her. She angled her head slightly, increasing that contact too, throwing all good sense to the wind.

"Carter?" The fingers tugged slightly at her hair, not painfully, just enough so that she knew the touch was deliberate.

"Mmh?" Sam closed her eyes and allowed herself to enjoy the dual touch, her shoulder and arm against his knee, the barest of caresses of his fingers in her hair where it lay across the couch cushion.

O'Neill's voice was gruff, low, tight with suppressed emotion. "I . . . you'll have that too . . . someday."

Sam sighed, relaxing further into the support of all three, the warmth of the fire, the touch of his leg and fingers, and the comfort of the familiar room. "I don't know, Sir. Sometimes I wonder if . . . if I've given up that chance. For . . ." She gestured vaguely toward the window, indicating the sparkling night sky beyond.

"You will. I promise."

His fingers threaded deeper into her hair, the tips just touching the back of her neck. Sam felt a tingle run through her at the touch, a shiver that had nothing to do with the rapidly fading cold from outside and more to do with the forbidden touch of the man behind her. She felt the barest of caresses across the back of her neck and she sighed again. She so wanted to believe.

End.

Afterword: The title, _Inter Spem et Metum_ , comes from Latin, meaning: "Between Hope and Fear."

Second Afterword: It's been brought to my attention that the events of this episode never really happened, it was all in Daniel's mind. Huh. Who knew? So...it's your choice. Believe that it happened and therefore the events of this story happened as well...or not. Either way, it's all fiction in the end, right?


	12. Imprinted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: New Campfire. Enjoy. Feedback rules. Remember, if you don't provide an email link, I cannot respond to your critiques, and I always reply to my readers.

  
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A/N: New Campfire. Enjoy. Feedback rules. Remember, if you don't provide an email link, I cannot respond to your critiques, and I always reply to my readers.

Set following _Past and Present_. At a reader's request, I am adding the episode synopsis from GateWorld: SG-1 encounters an entire planet suffering from amnesia. The planet's leader, a woman named Ke'ra, returns to Earth with SG-1 to find a cure. But even as Ke'ra and Daniel develop a mutual attraction, SG-1 suspects she may not be who she appears to be..

 _  
**Imprinted**   
_

Jack nodded to Teal'c as he left the firepit, following Daniel toward the tents. He yawned and stretched, rolling his head around and wincing as his neck popped loudly. Creaky. Definitely getting old and creaky. His neck popped again as he rolled his head again and then flexed his shoulders. He glanced at his companion, noting that she did not stir when either of their teammates bade her goodnight.

"Carter?"

"Sir?"

"Something on your mind?"

"Not really." She poked idly at the fire. "I was just thinking about Linnea . . . Ke'ra."

Jack shifted uncomfortably on his makeshift pad. He was still unhappy about letting that woman out of their control. It was just too . . . iffy. He didn't think that was what was on his Second's mind, however. He watched her prod the burning logs, his gaze lazily following the embers as they swirled up to disappear into the night sky. She looked . . . a little lost, he realized, and he decided that he didn't like that look on her. He poured himself another cup of hot water and mixed in the instant coffee, trying not to grimace. _Even instant was better than nothing_ , he firmly told himself. Setting it aside he reached for Carter's empty mug, filling it with the remaining hot water. Fishing a tea bag out of his kit, he dropped it inside and set the steaming mug between them. Reaching out, he pulled the poker from her hand and tilted his head toward her refilled mug.

"Here. _I'm_ the fire-poking member of this team, remember?"

Carter glanced over at him and gave him a gentle smile. She picked up her mug, wrapping both hands around it, and carefully sipped the hot liquid. "Yes, Colonel. Sorry. I forgot."

"Speaking of forgetting," he prompted softly, waiting for her to look up again.

Carter's smile faded and she met his gaze, her eyes luminous in the firelight. "Yeah. Forgetting." Setting her mug between them again, Carter slid her feet up until her knees were pressed against her chest. She wrapped her arms around them in what O'Neill recognized as her 'I'm comforting myself' pose and rested her chin atop one knee.

Jack settled himself deeper into their impromptu seats, pressing his back against the large log Teal'c had dragged over earlier. The Jaffa had literally framed the firepit in fallen logs, providing a windbreak and rather suitable campfire seating. Like Carter, O'Neill preferred to sit on the ground between the log and the fire, using the dead tree as a backrest.

The night, while slightly windy, was a fine one. The temperature had dropped with the setting of the amber sun, but not too low, hovering at a relatively comfortable sixty or so degrees. The wind swept the smoke from their fire consistently southward, keeping it from blowing into Jack's eyes. He wondered how long he'd have to wait for Carter to spill whatever was bothering her. Something to do with their rediscovery of Linnea, that much he knew, but . . .. She'd been fine immediately after their guests had returned to their own planet, and good for this morning's briefing. In fact, she'd been fine until . . . until . . . nope. He couldn't pinpoint it. Maybe it had been Daniel's barbed comment just after they'd arrived?

" _. . . see why we can't use them on our own ships."_

 _Carter, clearly exasperated with him, took a deep breath. Jack could almost hear her teeth grinding as she began her explanation. Again. "Colonel, we can't just . . . it's like Dad says. We can't just plug in somebody else's technology into our stuff. It doesn't work like that."_

 _Jack pulled off his hat and absently scrubbed his hair. He didn't really care about how it all worked, he was just enjoying the discussion. "But . . . Carter. Unless you try . . ."_

" _Sir . . ."_

" _O'Neill, I believe Major Carter has already explained this to you. Several times."_

" _Thank you, Teal'c." O'Neill saw her send their taller teammate a grateful smile._

" _I do not believe ay further repetitions will be beneficial." He paused significantly. "To anyone."_

 _Teal'c's tone was forbidding and Jack took a second look at him in surprise. "Fine." He shifted his pack as they walked, gesturing for Teal'c to take point. "If we can't discuss that, then let's talk about . . . oh, yeah, I know. Carter, what would happen if one of those sunspot things happened while we were passing by?"_

" _Sir?" Carter's voice was somewhat strained and she glanced from Teal'c's rapidly moving form to Daniel for help. "Do you mean a solar flare?"_

" _Sure."_

" _But . . . Sir." Carter pulled off her own hat and ran frustrated fingers through her hair, then shook her head to order it again before replacing the cap. She eyed him as they walked along. "You know what would happen."_

" _Yup. Time travel."_

 _Carter stopped and stared at Jack for a long moment. "Yes. Sir." She sighed and shook her head. "If you know, then why . . ."_

" _Just trying to pass the time."_

" _Colonel." Carter actually threw up her arms._

" _Major." Jack quirked a smile at her, matching her dry tone exactly._

" _Col–"_

" _All right, that's it!" Daniel shoved past both officers. "You're driving me nuts today, you know that?"_

" _Me?" Jack spread his hands wide. "What'd_ I _do?"_

" _You." He gestured to Jack and then to Carter. "_ Both _of you, really. You remind me of . . . of . . . Orner and Layale!"_

" _Of, wh–" Sam protested. "How?"_

" _You bicker like a married couple! At least they'd been together for forty-three years!" Daniel strode ahead, catching up with Teal'c. "What's your excuse?"_

Jack decided he'd waited long enough. "Carter? Speaking of forgetting?" He prompted her again.

"Yeah. Sorry. I just . . . it was odd, you know? They forgot _relationships_ , but not . . . relationships."

"Huh?"

Carter rested her cheek on her knees. "Sorry, I think I confused myself with that one. What I mean is that Ke'ra and the others forgot about personal stuff but remembered scientific things. They all remembered how to walk, to eat, to wear clothes, how to . . . interact . . . with one another. Look at Ke'ra, _without_ her memory she was brilliant! But the . . . personal . . . that got wiped away."

"Not really, though, right?"

"Sir?"

"Look at Orner and Layale." Jack shrugged and took another sip of his coffee.

"Nodal."

"S'cuse me?"

"Sorry, Colonel. Once Ke'ra got his memory back, he was really 'Nodal.'"

"Ah." Shrugging again, Jack kicked his feet out toward the fire. "My point is that he, whatever his name was, still related to his wife . . . as his wife." He tipped his head toward her and asked, "Is that's what's bugging you? What Daniel said about us bickering like . . ."

Even in the low light from the fire Jack could see the color rise on Carter's cheeks. She ducked her head and looked away from him. After a moment she cleared her throat and faced him again. "Ah. No. That . . . no, Colonel, I'm okay with . . . I mean, Daniel was just being–"

"Daniel."

"Yeah." Carter returned her gaze to the fire, her expression pensive. "I just can't help wondering . . ."

"If you'd be brilliant with your mind wiped? Oh . . . I have no doubts, Carter."

"Thank you, Colonel." Sam's soft smile was another source of light in the darkness. "That's not it, really. I . . . I don't know." She shrugged, clearly unwilling–or unable–to give voice to her thoughts.

Jack yawned again and rested his head against the rough backrest. The odd greenish-black night sky was littered with unfamiliar stars and he wondered just what direction home was. Wondered what it would be like to forever look up and see unfamiliar stars, to find himself surrounded by strangers, to not remember anything about his life. Turning his head slightly to study the woman beside him, Jack watched the firelight dance across her features, adding gilt highlights to her sun-blonde hair. He couldn't imagine not knowing this woman, in any time, in any place.

Nudging her shoulder gently, Jack spoke softly. "You know, Carter . . . I like to think that . . . well, that I'd know . . . people. You know. If. . ."

Carter turned her head and met his gaze, her features softening. "Really?"

Her face was in shadow and Jack could just make see her eyes sparkling in the flickering light. He wished he could see more of her face, could make out more of her expression, but the darkness, so often an effective shield for his feelings, also served as a veil, hiding her from him. "Really," Jack's voice was low and slightly rough.

"So," Carter sighed. "That's what I was thinking about." She sat back further, pulling her jacket closed and leaning against the log, her shoulder just touching his. "We've seen it twice now. The people of Vyus and," she waved a hand vaguely, indicating the two of them. "Us on P3X-797."

"I, ah, don't know if that one counts as 'memory loss' Carter. That was more like 'all sense of reason and order loss.'" Jack shuddered slightly as he recalled the overpowering primal urges that had so dominated him following his infection with what Fraiser called the Broca virus. He was still haunted by fragmented dreams and disturbingly arousing images that he couldn't quite place into context. Dreams that featured Samantha Carter in stunning, sometimes excruciating detail. And, since everyone around him had been, or eventually became, similarly afflicted, he wasn't entirely sure what was dream and what was reality.

Carter's voice was hoarse as she continued, "We did, sort of, lose our memories. In a way." She looked at him and just as quickly looked away. "And did things we, ah . . . well." She coughed slightly. "My point is that it seems that . . . something . . . of the 'self' remains, doesn't it? Some part of us that makes us, even if it's subconsciously, remember our _selves_ , or . . . or something.

"Or some _one_." Jack pressed more firmly against Carter's shoulder, telling himself it was for added warmth and nothing else. He inhaled, savoring the mixed bouquet of woodsmoke and Carter-scent as both swirled around him on the night breeze. It was this, he decided, that would help him remember, should he ever need to. This mixture that had come to mean safety and . . . home . . . to him. Woodsmoke and the tantalizing, warm fragrance of Carter.

"Or someone," Carter echoed softly, matching his pressure against her shoulder. "Yes, Sir."

Jack watched as she, too, tilted her head back and rested it on the log. Her eyes slipped closed and she blew out a slow, quiet breath. They were close enough that if she were to turn her head toward him their faces would be only inches apart. _Dangerous_ , he told himself. _Really dangerous_. This . . . constant tug of attraction . . . combined with his bone-deep conviction that he would know Carter anytime, anywhere . . .. Yes. Dangerous, indeed.

Very dangerous, to both of them, but . . . too important to let go. Beside him, Carter shifted again, until she'd moved enough to–just barely–rest her head against his shoulder. Neither of them said a word, both unwilling to break the spell of the moment. Jack turned his head just slightly, enough to draw a subtly deep breath, filling his lungs–and his soul–with the imprint of her scent.

Yup. He'd know her anywhere.

End.


	13. Echoes in Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: New Campfire. Enjoy. Feedback rules. Remember, if you don't provide an email link, I cannot respond to your critiques, and I always reply to my readers.

  
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A/N: New Campfire. Enjoy. Feedback rules. Remember, if you don't provide an email link, I cannot respond to your critiques, and I always reply to my readers.

Set between _Jolinar's Memories_ and _The Devil You Know._ At a reader's request, I am adding the episode synopsis from GateWorld: When Major Carter's father Jacob is kidnapped by Sokar, the SG-1 team must, using memories from Jolinar recovered by Carter, infiltrate a prison moon designed to look like hell to rescue him.

 _  
**Echoes in Hell**   
_

Sam dropped her head back and let her eyes slip closed. If she concentrated, she could block the pervasive stench of the hell into which they'd entered so willingly. Taking a long moment to focus herself, she blocked her senses one by one. Sight was easiest, she simply kept her eyes closed. Smell came next, a much more difficult task. Two deep breaths, just as Teal'c had taught her, and that sense, too, was fading. It was harder to block the sounds around her, because she was so incredibly conscious of the Colonel's shifting and fidgeting beside her as he monitored her dad's condition. Finally she just reached out and blindly found his hands, giving them a quick squeeze. She didn't acknowledge his soft, "Sorry, Carter," just let his hand fall away as she dropped hers limply back into her lap.

Slipping deeper into herself, Sam let the memories flow again. She didn't want to use Martouf's memory trigger this time, the images were too sharp that way, too painful. Added to that was the hardship her struggles put on her team, especially . . . no. Sam pushed that away. She would lose her focus if she thought too long about the pain on her Colonel's face after her screams woke them all. No, this way would be easier.

Deeper.

Still deeper.

 _She was hot. Too hot. Sticky. Sam . . . but . . . not-Sam fought a wave of revulsion and nausea as she realized just_ why _she was feeling what she was. She gagged slightly and rolled, dropping down off of the sleeping pallet and onto the floor. She landed in a low crouch, instinctively preparing herself for an attack that wasn't coming. Not now. Not yet._

 _Glancing in the reflecting glass above the small table, Sam saw a stranger's face staring back at her. Jolinar. Jolinar's face, Jolinar's eyes. She looked down at her partially clad body. Jolinar's body. This time she wasn't able to fully suppress the shudder that ran though her as she remembered just what had been done to that body._

 _The sudden wave of desperation and longing for home, the sense of fear and betrayal, that swept through her was overwhelming, so much so that it nearly threw her fragile control of the memory. A tiny whimper slipped past her lips as she forced herself deeper._

"No," she mumbled, "I am Samantha Carter, not Jolinar of Malksh . . . " Sam's words faded again into incoherent mumbling.

So deep was she that Sam wasn't aware of the Colonel and Daniel exchanging concerned glances. When Martouf made to reach out to her, O'Neill's hand snapped forward, stopping the Tok'ra before he could touch her. "Easy there, Marty."

Martouf kept his gaze on Sam as he spoke. "But, Colonel O'Neill, I can –"

O'Neill shook his head, his grip on Martouf unyielding. "No. You can't. Back off a bit now." O'Neill's eyes flicked from Martouf to Daniel, then dropped again to Carter's now sweat-laden brow. He didn't relax his grip on the Tok'ra until he felt Martouf pull back as he sat down again.

"J-jack?" Jacob's voice rasped softly across the silence. "'s goin' on?" The retired general's eyes were glazed with pain as he swept his gaze around their cell. "Sam?"

O'Neill gestured to the figure beside him, "She's here, Jacob. Just . . . sleeping for now."

"Hurt her?"

O'Neill shook his head and gently mopped the older Tok'ra's damp forehead. "No. No, I don't think so." He waited until Jacob's eyes closed again before leaning back against the wall between him and the still mumbling Sam. Careful as he was to avoid disturbing her, she startled slightly when his arm brushed her, jumping in response to the contact.

 _He was there again, leering. Sneering. Sam swallowed the bile that rose in her throat and forced herself past the ghostly sensation of his hands on her. Strange hands._

 _The wrong hands._

 _She couldn't fight the shame that came with those feelings and a small part of her mind tried to understand that as she continued in her dream-memory._

 _She, Samantha, had done nothing wrong and had nothing for which she should be ashamed. But that memory, that pervasive I-had-to-do-it-to-survive memory was there, gutting her. Knifing through her with frightening ease. When she tried again to push the feeling aside, a face swam before her. Sam's breath caught as the solemn face with the piercing blue eyes morphed and blended, the blue eyes fading to a deep, sunlit brown. The solemn mien deepening, sharpening, and wearing a tiny half-smile._

Again Sam whimpered and this time she jerked awake at the jolt of pain that shot through her heart. Eyes wide, she automatically reached out, desperately seeking human contact. Warmth. Connection.

"Whoa. Easy, Carter." O'Neill's voice was low and quiet, soothing. "You almost got me in the . . . never mind."

Gasping slightly, Sam blew out a breath and let her eyes slowly open. She turned her head against the rough wall behind her head until her eyes found O'Neill's. She blinked back tears as she studied him. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice broken and shaking. "You know I'd never . . ." Her voice trailed off and she ducked her eyes from his, ashamed.

O'Neill leaned close, shielding Sam and their conversation from the others. "Sorry for what, Carter?" After a moment he reached out and lifted her chin, forcing her gaze back to his. "Sam," he whispered, "What's going on?"

Something in his tone penetrated Sam's haze and she slowly came back to herself. The stench of sweat and fear, the endless screaming echoing through the corridors, the . . . reality of the man speaking to her. She blinked a few times to clear her mind, aware that she should be pulling back from the contact with him, that she shouldn't want him to be touching her as he was. She wondered if he was aware that his thumb was caressing her cheek while he waited for her to gather her thoughts. Finally Sam realized that O'Neill was waiting for her to say something.

"S-sir? Sorry, what did you ask me?"

"Me? You, Carter. You said you're sorry for something and I," he shrugged and dropped his hand from her chin. "Whatever it was, it's okay."

His words were a trigger and Sam was once again flooded with remembered shame and guilt. She ducked her head as she struggled to separate Jolinar's memories from her own. "No it wasn't," she whispered brokenly.

She had no reason to feel that she'd betrayed him, Colonel O'Neill. There was nothing between them _to_ betray. It was just residual memory, right? Right. Shivering despite the stifling heat of the caves, Sam again fought down a wave of nausea. Again her reaction was stemmed as she felt his hand on her chin once more.

"Carter." O'Neill tugged gently until her eyes met his. "Stop it. Let it go. Whatever you . . . found . . . in that head of yours. It's not _real_." He glanced around the room before adding wryly. "Unfortunately, _this_ is." He gave her a little shake and then released her.

"I . . . yes, Sir. I, I know." She swallowed hard and kept her gaze on his, needing the link with him. She looked beyond him to where Martouf and Daniel sat talking quietly a few feet away. "It's just, what she did, what she had to do . . ."

O'Neill's voice was gruff. "She did what she needed to in order to survive, Sam." He broke their gaze and looked away. "You can't . . . sometimes you just–"

Sam stopped him, laying a hand on his arm. She realized what he was saying and was sickened. Sickened by the memories Jolinar had left with her and even more stricken by what she thought he meant. What he might have . . . "I'm sorry." She gave his arm a squeeze and then, looking past him to where her dad lay, she slid her hand down to his. "It's hard for me to separate her from me, but I know that . . . well, it _wasn't_ me and that she did what had to be done." Sam tangled her fingers with his for a brief moment before pulling away. "Like you did."

She waited for him to return his attention to her, giving him time to once again reign in the demons that she was sure chased his dreams. When he had, she took a chance. "It . . . it was just that . . . well, when I was remembering, the person I . . . rather she . . ." Sam shrugged slightly, sharing her own confusion with him. "He became . . . you, and I . . ." This time she could barely choke back the nausea and revulsion that swamped her.

"Carter." O'Neill's voice was almost sharp in his earnestness. "It wasn't you, it was _her._ And . . . well, he wasn't _me_."

"I know that, Colonel. Intellectually. But . . . inside . . ." Sam shrugged again. She was feeling the effects of the day and exhaustion was quickly overwhelming everything else.

"I know." The Colonel stared deeply into her eyes for a long, silent moment. "And Sam . . . if . . . God, _if_ , you ever had to . . . were forc–" he swallowed whatever it was he was going to say. "It would never be a betrayal if it brought you home to m– ah, home."

"Thank you for that." Sam's voice was soft, but stronger than before.

O'Neill turned and leaned against the wall, his shoulder still connecting with hers. Sam watched as he glanced around the room. There wasn't much to see, only the rough-hewn walls lit by the flickering torches, the other prisoners so resigned to their fates. As her attention wandered, O'Neill shifted again beside her and Sam turned to find him rummaging through his pockets. Despite the lingering pain of Jolinar's memories, she couldn't help but smile as his face lit up when he found whatever it was he was looking for. Her smile widened as she realized what he was unwrapping.

"You . . . I can't believe you have one of those, Colonel."

"Be prepared, Carter. That's my motto." He, as quietly as possible, began to open the foil packet. "Care to put it to good use?"

"I'm pretty sure that's the Boy Scout motto, Colonel," Sam smiled softly. "And, I'd be delighted." She watched him fumble for a moment before adding, "Need a hand, Sir?"

"Nope, I've got it. Lots of practice, you know." He bumped against her shoulder a few times before finally succeeding in his task. "Ah ha!" His soft exclamation was one of triumph, and he proudly held out one hand to her. "Carter?"

Sam slowly reached up and took the slightly dented S'more pop tart from his hand, allowing her fingers to brush his as she did so and guiltily enjoying the contact. "Seems funny without a campfire, Sir."

"Not hot enough in here for you?" O'Neill glanced at her and shrugged. "Can't have everything, can we?"

Taking a bite of her sweet treat, Sam could only shake her head. She loved that he still carried these with him, a special thing just for and between the two of them. As she chewed she realized that some of her earlier pain was easing. She was glad that Martouf was not near them. He pushed things with her, clouded her mind . . . played on her still-unfocused memories. She resented that. Sam glanced again at her Colonel, knowing that he would never do that to her. Never play her, never use her. She chewed thoughtfully on her pop tart, then realized the treat was probably a mistake, she was now thirstier than ever. "I don't suppose you've got any milk in your pocket, Sir?"

"Milk?"

Sam gestured with the pop tart and O'Neill grimaced. He glanced around dramatically, as if expecting a giant bottle of milk to appear before them. Glancing back at her, he offered a small half-smile and shrugged.

"Damn, we really _are_ in hell, aren't we?"

End.

Afterword: Wow. What an incredibly shippy episode, which makes it a zillion times harder to write a Campfire for it.


	14. Unsung Heroes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This A/N is almost identical to the last one. Sorry (again) for the delay in writing. I struggled with it, wrestled with it, and finally this is the result. As always, feedback rules. Remember, if you don't provide an email link, I cannot respond to your critiques, and I always reply to my readers.

  
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A/N: This A/N is almost identical to the last one. Sorry (again) for the delay in writing. I struggled with it, wrestled with it, and finally this is the result. As always, feedback rules. Remember, if you don't provide an email link, I cannot respond to your critiques, and I always reply to my readers.

I have to apologize too, for this. A wonderful reviewer and/or GW buddy gave me the "medals" premise for this story. I forgot to note whom, so let me just say . . . thanks for the great idea. I've changed the POV, but hopefully . . .

Set after _The Devil You Know._ Ep synopsis: _During an attempt to rescue Carter's father, SG-1 is caught by one of hell's denizens, determined to use the information they possess to overthrow the Goa'uld lord Sokar. Using Tok'ra technology, the team is forced to relive painful memories._

 _  
**Unsung Heroes**   
_

Jack closed the door behind Teal'c and Daniel, taking a moment to enjoy the blissful silence of his home. He loved Daniel, though lord knew the man could talk enough to make even a saint lose their patience. Brushing away a few of the wind-driven rain that had blown in during the short time he'd held the door open, Jack turned and headed for the kitchen. He was two steps from the doorway when a muffled curse coming from down the hallway stopped him. Glancing briefly at his unexpectedly empty living room he turned and headed toward the sound.

"Carter?"

"Here."

Muffled grumbling followed her response, and Jack slowly padded down the hallway until he found her. "Carter?" This time he drew out her name, his confusion clear.

"Sir?"

Jack watched as his Second tried to clean up the items spilled at her feet. Odds and ends from more than twenty years in the Air Force, bits and fragments of a former life mixed in with his new. He squatted next to her, stilling her agitated movements. "So . . . dare I ask . . .?"

Carter shook her head, her eyes avoiding his. "I'm sorry, Colonel. I don't want you to think I was snooping. I mean, I was looking for –"

"Carter." Jack placed his hand on her wrist. He gave a brief squeeze, waiting until she looked up at him. "What's goin' on?" Watching as his normally unflappable Major visibly forced herself to relax, Jack eased backward until he was sitting cross-legged in front of her, the box forgotten between them.

"I really am sorry, Sir. I came in to change, 'cause Daniel and his beer . . ." She exchanged a small smile with him at the vagaries of their often clumsy teammate. "Then," she continued, "I remembered something. Or, really, had more of an idea about the new decentralized power for the–". Catching Jack's frustrated look, Carter stopped and began again. "Anyway, I needed a pen, so I began hunting through your desk." She finally looked at him squarely, obviously prepared for him to be angry. Then she reached behind her and pulled out another box Jack recognized.

One he hadn't seen in a while.

His jaw tightened and, when he realized Carter had seen his reaction, Jack sucked in a long breath. "Ah. I see."

Carter was quick to jump in. "I, I know I shouldn't have looked. It's none of my business. But, I opened it, then dropped it. And . . . I mean, I knew about you, about your . . . well, on paper, I mean. Most of it, anyway. The stuff I was able to find. But to see –"

"'Stuff you were able to' . . ." Jack raised an eyebrow. What could she mean? He was more intrigued when he saw the deep red flush crawl up her long neck and suffuse her face with color.

"I, ah, I mean. That I could, you know, um, read . . ." Her voice trailed off and she gave him a weak smile.

"I see." Jack sat silently, his eyes on the box she held, wondering what systems she could have possibly hacked to read his file. His _highly classified_ file. After a long moment he slowly reached forward and eased the carved wooden box from her hands, his fingers brushing hers as he did so. "Well, c'mon then." With a soft grunt he rose, wincing as his knees popped with the movement.

"Sir?"

Carter stared up at him from the floor, and Jack reached toward her again, this time extending his hand for her to take. When she did he gave her a tug to help her to her feet. "If you wanna see the goods, Carter, let's go get comfy." He winked at her, aware of the innuendo and just as aware that he'd flustered her.

"I, ah . . . okay, Sir." Carter brushed her hands down the legs of her jeans. "But, really, Colonel. You don't have . . ."

"I know." Decision made, Jack turned and strode back down the hallway toward the living room. He set the box on the coffee table, then bent to poke at the fire he'd lit earlier. Daniel had insisted on a team night, since a computer glitch had canceled Carter and Jacob's father/daughter trip. They'd rescheduled, but then Jacob had been called back by the High Council, leaving SG-1 with an unexpectedly open weekend. Team night had turned into, as it often did, dinner at Jack's, a bad movie, and a fire. The punishing rain outside had forced them to build their usual after-dinner fire inside, however, and now Jack just added a few logs to ward off the growing evening chill.

"Can I get you another beer?" he asked as he heard Carter approach. When she shook her head, he shrugged and joined her on the couch. Gesturing toward the box with his chin he said, "Go on, open it up."

"You know, Colonel. I mean it. I'm really sorry, and we don't –"

"Carter." Jack leaned forward and grabbed the box. He set it between them on the couch and, his eyes on hers, reached forward and flipped open the catch.

"Holy . . ."

Jack gave a little snort. "You know, Carter, your dad being a General and all, I figured you'd seen enough bling like this to last a lifetime."

Carter shook her head as she gently lifted the medals out of the box. Someone had removed them from their velvet cases and almost casually tossed them here. The most recent were on top and it was those she lifted out first. "It's funny, though, isn't it, Colonel?"

Not understanding her meaning, Jack just tilted his head, waiting for her to continue. Carter looked up and caught his eye, then smiled gently as she continued her examination.

"I mean, they give us these, and they don't really _say_ anything, do they?" Setting aside the top layer, those with whom she was most familiar, she reached again inside. "You have a bronze star?"

"Iraq."

"First time?"

"Yeah."

"But . . . oh."

Carter glanced at his leg, and Jack knew she was remembering their conversation in Antarctica.

"I guess this goes with it then?" She held the bronze medallion with its wide, blue ribbon, bordered by thinner white, blue, and red stripes in the palm of her hand. Flipping it over, she read the back, and Jack automatically said the words aloud as she did, "For honorable service while a prisoner of war."

When she looked at him he shrugged and said, "I've never figured out what's so honorable about being a POW."

"Yeah."

Carter's voice was soft and she tightened her hand around the medal. Jack could see the tension around her eyes. "Look, Carter, we don't have to . . ." He was beginning to regret bringing the box out.

"No, Sir." She looked up, her eyes shimmering slightly. "If you don't mind, I want to, Sir. I want to know."

Jack held her gaze for a long, silent moment. He'd turned off all but one light in the room earlier and now the dancing fire cast an amber glow around the room. Shadows flickered and dipped, making the bronze medals seem warmer, giving the silver medals an eerie reddish tinge. He rarely looked at the things after he was given them. Aside from those pinned to his rarely-worn mess-dress uniform, he didn't give the decorations much thought, except as a required accoutrement to the stiff formal wear. The ribbons attached to his service dress had long ago blended into a fruit salad of color, their individual meanings lost to time and deliberate forgetfulness. Finally he nodded and gave Carter the go-ahead to continue. It wouldn't hurt, he told himself. It would do him good to remember.

Sure it would.

"Colonel?" Carter looked up at him in surprise. "I don't understand, a Silver Star?"

Reaching out, Jack pulled the insignia from her hand. "Yeah."

"But, I thought that was an Army thing."

"You can get it if you're attached in any capacity to an Army unit."

"Oh."

The wonder in her voice caught him up short, and Jack quickly placed the gilded star back into the box. "Always thought it was odd that they call it a 'silver star' and it's actually gold."

As if sensing his mood Carter, too, began gathering up the items she'd pulled out earlier, her expression pensive as she identified them. "Defense Distinguished Service Medal, Air Force Distinguished Service Medal, Defense Superior Service Medal, Airman's Medal . . . Colonel, you have almost every award they have to give."

Jack stilled her movements with a hand on hers, waiting until she met his gaze. "Yeah. You know, Carter . . . these are just . . . things, right?" When she narrowed her gaze at him he tried again. "They're just . . . I don't know. I always felt that they were the Air Force's version of a–"

"No."

"S'cuse me?"

Carter shook her head, then turned her hand over in his, her fingers squeezing his once before pulling away. "No, Colonel. They mean something. They mean that you left a piece of yourself behind for something . . . for someone."

"You have some too, you know," he reminded her. He thought for a moment, then added, "And we really should have one for some of what we've done lately."

"Sir?"

"Netu?"

"Oh. Well. Yeah, I guess." She gave him a half smile. "What do you suppose the medal for that would look like?"

Jack shrugged. "Knowing the military? If they can make a Bronze Star gold, they'd make an award for surviving the _actual_ hell look like an ice cube. Or an angel."

Beside him, Carter snorted softly. She gently nudged the box closer to him, then she slid off of the couch onto the floor.

Jack watched as she assumed her favorite fireplace pose, one shoulder against the couch, the other brushing his leg. Her long limbs tucked up against her chest and her arms encircling them, her face darkened in profile against the fire. She leaned her head back against the couch seat and caught his eye. The look on her face froze him for a moment, her eyes were wide and guileless, her expression open. When she opened her mouth to speak, Jack realized that sitting here with her like this, the rain sheeting down outside, the fire warming them both and bathing the room in magical light, he would do whatever she asked and damn the consequences.

"Sir?" Carter's voice was soft, hesitant. She angled her head a bit more to catch his eye. "Will you . . . will you tell me about them? About how you earned them?"

Glancing down at the box, Jack sighed. "Can I ask why you want to know, Sam?"

Carter's own sigh mirrored his and she turned her head toward the fire while she considered her answer. When she spoke, her voice was soft but steady. "I . . . I'm sure this is stepping over that line . . . Sir. But . . . you're the best man I've ever known. Certainly the best CO with whom I've ever worked. I know the stuff on paper," she said, almost dismissively. "But I want to know . . . to . . . _know_ . . . from you. Sir. They're a part of you, and that's . . . important to me." She swallowed convulsively and continued. "We both know, don't we? So many who'll never receive even a moment's recognition. Tell me about _them._ " Carter pivoted again and this time turned her back to the fire, so that she only had to lay her head against the couch cushions to look up at him. She studied his face for a long moment before adding, "If I'm too far over that line, Sir, I'll just–"

"No. Stay." Jack met her gaze and felt himself reaching up to smooth a wisp of hair from her forehead, his eyes locked with hers. Aborting that movement at the last second, he instead reached again inside of the box. "Might as well start at the beginning, I guess. You'll notice there's no Good Conduct medal." Gratified by Carter's chuckle, Jack pulled out a bronze medal hanging from the wide gold ribbon accented with red and bordered by green. "This will really date me, Carter."

"Vietnam." She gave him a brief smile of understanding and then turned again, this time settling her back more solidly against his legs. Now facing the fire, she again tilted her head to rest on the cushion, clearly settling in to listen to him for as long as he was willing to talk.

"Yeah. Vietnam." Jack's fingers moved forward of their own accord, touching the golden ends of her hair where it lay so close to his thigh. "I _really_ don't want to think about how old you were then." He gave the strands a slight tug as she softly chuckled again, then left his fingers tangled loosely in the silken strands as he continued, the medal resting on his knee and his eyes on the woman at his feet. "I was barely eighteen, green as all get out and scared as hell. As the newbie in Spec. Ops, I was shipped to Nha Trang Air Base . . ."

End.

Afterword: Original premise as sent to me: _" . . .where Sam knocks something over something at one of the team nights and finds them in his desk or something and even though she knows that he received them, it just means something to actually be able to see them up close and all that that man has been through and such."_

Second note: the awards that are in Jack's box are attributed mostly to the Stargate Wiki. I did find some errors there, some awards he couldn't have possibly earned, so corrected my private list. I did figure that he would have earned the following (not counting badges): Air Force Medal of Honor,* Air Force Cross,* Defense Distinguished Service Medal,* Air Force Distinguished Service Medal,* Bronze Star, Defense Superior Service Medal,* Airman's Medal,* Bronze Star, Purple Heart, Defense Meritorious Service Medal,* Meritorious Service Medal,* Air Medal,* Aerial Achievement Medal,* Air Force Achievement Medal (with V for Valor), Organizational Excellence Award (with V for Valor), POW Medal, Combat Readiness Medal, National Defense Service Medal, Vietnam Service Medal, Southwest Asia Service Medal, Humanitarian Service Medal, Air Force Overseas Long Tour, Longevity Service Award, Republic of Vietnam Campaign Medal, Kuwait Liberation Medal (Saudi Arabia). The "*"'s indicate the awards that I believe came after season 3 (which we're still in, remember!).


	15. One Thing and Another

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: New _Campfire_ , enjoy. As always, feedback rules. Remember, if you don't provide an email link, I cannot respond to your critiques, and I always reply to my readers. Extra shippy cookies to Lena (Lara_SGC) for the late-night beta!

  
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A/N: New _Campfire_ , enjoy. As always, feedback rules. Remember, if you don't provide an email link, I cannot respond to your critiques, and I always reply to my readers. Extra shippy cookies to Lena (Lara_SGC) for the late-night beta!

Set after _Foothold._ Ep synopsis: _SG-1 returns from a mission and discovers that metamorphic aliens have taken over the complex. During routine medical exams, Dr. Fraiser injects each team member with a sedative, rendering them unconscious. Teal'c awakens and sees General Hammond conspiring with Fraiser and two aliens._

 _  
**One Thing . . . and Another**   
_

"So . . . wait. You _shot_ me?"

"Well, to be fair, Sir, it wasn't really _you_."

"Well, yes, but . . ." The Colonel stared at her, his gaze intense, unnerving. "Carter! I'm your CO! Not to mention," he paused, obviously choosing his words carefully. ". . . a pretty good friend!"

"Yes . . . well," Sam paused, flustered. She glanced between the Colonel and Teal'c, then back again. "Wait! Didn't you punch Janet?"

"Jack! You did _what_?" Daniel's journal fell out of his lap, landing dangerously close to the fire. Only Teal'c's lightning reflexes saved it.

"I believe the false General Hammond also punched Major Carter, sending her into a wall." Teal'c nodded to Sam as he returned Daniel's journal to him.

Sam returned Teal'c's nod and then turned again to face O'Neill, frowning as he shook his head.

"Punched, Carter. _Punched_. Not 'shot,' as in 'dead.' There's quite a difference, ya know." O'Neill glanced around the fire. "And besides, she was an alien," he justified in aside to Daniel.

"So were you!" Sam slumped back against the pack she'd piled behind her to form a makeshift seat, frustrated with a conversation that had quickly gone from fun to . . . not.

"Yeah. Well. Still." Somewhat petulantly, O'Neill poked at the fire. "Fraiser's one thing, she's . . . _Fraiser_ . . . not my–"

"Your . . . _what_ , Jack?"

The butter-wouldn't-melt-in-his-mouth expression on Daniel's face was the last straw for Sam. Rising smoothly to her feet, she stonily gathered the remnants of her meal and, pausing only long enough to grab her weapon, stalked off toward the small stream at the south end of camp. Behind her she heard O'Neill's muttered dismissal of Daniel's somewhat sarcastic prod, but she was too far gone to care.

Didn't he have _any_ idea how it had felt? Knowing something intellectually and acting upon it was one thing, but going against what her eyes were telling her was something else. She _knew_ that the man who'd met her at Maybourne's table wasn't the real Jack O'Neill. He didn't speak right, he didn't act right, he didn't . . . he didn't even smell right. And the most telling thing to Sam was that the man pretending to be her CO, someone with whom she could silently communicate almost effortlessly, would not meet her eyes. It was as if some sort of radio signal–one to which she had become so accustomed that she'd almost forgotten it was there–was silenced.

The entire time he'd sat there on the plane, lounging almost indolently before her, she had missed that subtle, ongoing communication. At first she'd chalked it up to the last dregs of the fake Janet's sedative still flowing through her system, but then, as the flight continued, she realized that the link between them was silent. It just wasn't there. Then . . . the flicker. That flash of _other_ that had proven her right.

Sam blew out a sigh and sat back on the rocks banking the little stream. Night had fallen completely while she'd been angrily washing out her things, and she knew it was past time to return to the campfire. Behind her she could hear the men going about their business and, despite her frustration with them, or at least with the Colonel and Daniel, she was comforted by the familiar sounds. She sat in silence for a long while, letting the quiet of the night settle her tumbling emotions until a slight rustling of the brush to her left gave her warning. She looked up to find Colonel O'Neill standing nearby.

O'Neill reached into a pocket and pulled out a white handkerchief. Waving it slightly at her, he said, "Truce?"

Sam sighed again and nodded. She moved aside to give O'Neill access to the stream from the convenient flat rock. "Of course, Colonel."

As he washed out his own things, O'Neill shook his head. "No, Carter. Not 'of course.' You're my Second, I'm your CO, but there are going to be times when we argue. All of us." He shook the water off of his cup and joined her on the larger, dryer boulder nearby. "A good team is like a family, and we're gonna set each other off from time to time."

"I know, Sir. And . . . well, even so, I'm sorry for just walking away."

"Nope. No apologies." O'Neill flashed her a quick smile, mostly hidden in the gathering darkness.

The planet's moon hung low over the horizon, its color almost amber. Sam knew the color was the result of a combination of the moon's surface, its atmosphere, and the color of this system's sun, but right now . . . right now the amber glow reminded her too much of blood. She closed her eyes as she saw again in her mind's eye the Colonel flying back after she'd shot him.

"Carter?"

"I'm okay, Sir."

"I'm sure you are, but I was going to say, let's head back to the fire. Teal'c has tucked Daniel in for the night and is now off to do his . . . meditation thing." O'Neill wiggled his fingers vaguely as he rose, one hand almost absently reaching back to help her up.

Sam accepted O'Neill's help, then instantly dropped his hand once she was on her feet. She followed him to the campsite, both of them silently stowing away their utensils, and leaving out only the mugs for coffee and tea. When O'Neill turned to her and raised an eyebrow, Sam nodded, reveling again in the knowledge that _this_ was how it should be between them. No words, just . . . communication. That was what had been missing, and what had made it possible for her to . . .

The fire popped and she jumped. Glancing at O'Neill, she spoke up. "I . . . I _knew_ it wasn't you, Sir," she said softly as he handed her the steaming mug of tea.

O'Neill caught her eye and offered a tiny smile. "I should hope so, Carter." He studied his mug for a moment, then looked again at her. "I know I can be pain in the ass sometimes, Carter, but I'd hope I'm not that easy to–"

"Don't," Sam choked out. She quickly turned away, unwilling to have him see the tears she was struggling to hold back.

"Hey." O'Neill set down his mug and reached for her. He set hers aside too and then awkwardly patted her arm. "Hey, Carter, c'mon. I'm sorry. It was . . . it was just a bit of a shock, you know? To hear you say, 'Oh, that must have happened when I killed you' so casually. Makes a guy wonder, you know?"

Sam shook her head and bit her lip. Now, nearly a week after the SGC's Foothold situation, it was hitting her. She, along with her team, had had time off, had done other things. She had happily spent time in her lab puzzling over the various artifacts that continuously appeared on her desk. But, in that week, she'd not had a single moment to really _think_ , in fact she'd avoided it. Denial, as they say, is not just a river in Egypt. Tonight's good-humored teasing had unleashed in her a storm of fears and she was struggling to contain them.

"Carter?"

The gentle concern in his voice was her undoing. Sam bit back a small sob, turning it quickly to a cough. "I thought I'd killed you. When I killed him . . . _it_ . . . I was, was . . . terrified . . . that I'd killed _you_ , too."

She turned to him, her eyes sparkling with tears she refused to shed. Carters didn't cry, not in front of their CO's. Especially not _over_ their CO's. She could see his confusion so she tried to explain, "I knew it wasn't you. The guy on the plane. Both him and Daniel, but . . . especially you." When O'Neill opened his mouth to question her, she quickly cut him off, hoping to avoid any discussion of _how_ she'd known it wasn't him. "Among other things, the alien-O'Neill was . . . colder. Distant. And he didn't–" She broke off again, swallowing hard. "But, what I didn't know was, when I killed it . . ." And now Sam looked away again.

"Ah." O'Neill dropped his hand from her arm. He fiddled with the strings dangling from the edge of her jacket, tugging and stretching the elastic absently. "So . . ."

Sam gently pulled the strings from his hands. "Yeah. So. When I found you and Paul in that storage room, I was . . . it was . . . I mean, I . . .." Sam blew out a breath and then raised her gaze to his. "I really was glad to see you, Sir."

"Well, as weird as it was to see Daniel turn into you, I was just as happy to see you, too, Carter. That part was a little too freaky for me." He held her gaze for a long moment, his eyes warm, the flickering firelight reflected in the deep, brown depths. After a long moment he gave her a ghost of a wink and a dramatic shudder.

Sam quickly wiped her eyes and chuckled softly. "Yeah. I wondered why you were looking at me so funny. I forgot I still had the mimic device on."

"Yeah, well. If you're gonna try to look like someone, Carter, next time pick someone other than Daniel, okay?"

Her equilibrium somewhat restored, Sam retrieved her cup of tea and settled back again. She felt better for just having told him. "Sir?" She settled more deeply into her spot, her legs stretched out toward the fire.

"Hmm?"

"I was wondering. When you and Paul were taking over, after you'd hit Janet–"

"'Alien Fraiser,'" he reminded her with a small smile.

"Right. 'Alien Janet.' Anyway, which one of you, ah, found the device?" She carefully studied O'Neill's face, wondering at the color that, despite the feeble light from the fire, quickly rose up his neck and covered his features. When he didn't answer, she bit back a smile and said, "I see." Cocking her head at him, she asked, "Does Janet know?"

"C'mon, Carter. Give me a break here." O'Neill swallowed a mouthful of coffee, grimacing as it apparently burned his tongue. "It's not like I . . . looked or anything."

"'Course not, Colonel," she said with a smile into her mug.

O'Neill nudged her shoulder and she turned to smile at him. As she did, she cocked her head slightly. "Sir?" She asked again, and this time a small smile played across her lips.

"Hmm?" O'Neill answered again, lifting an eyebrow at her, his eyes twinkling in the firelight.

"Earlier you said to Daniel, 'Fraiser's one thing, she's . . . _Fraiser_ . . . not my–' . . ." Sam trailed off, wondering if he'd answer. She wanted to know, but was afraid the answer would bring them that much closer to that ever-shifting line.

O'Neill poked again at the fire, sending more embers swirling up into the silent night sky. He was silent for so long that Sam was certain he wasn't going to answer. She nodded to herself and sat quietly, content just to be there with him with Daniel's soft snoring echoing through the clearing and Teal'c's silent presence nearby. So content was she, and so relaxed, that when O'Neill finally spoke she almost missed it.

"'My Carter,' Sam. I was going to say that hitting a fake Fraiser was one thing, but being shot by . . . my Carter . . . that's another."

Sam caught her breath, surprised by the sudden pain his words brought. She nodded and kept her eyes on the fire as O'Neill rose and bid her good night. When she didn't hear him move away, she blinked back the tears that had gathered and looked up to meet his warm, open gaze.

"On the other hand, I couldn't be more proud of . . . _my_ Carter." He rested a hand on her shoulder for a moment, then gave it a gentle squeeze. "Ya done good, Sam."

End.

Afterword: I've had some comments about Sam "tearing up" from time to time. Make no mistake, nobody believes more than I that Major-Doctor Samantha Carter is one kick-ass tough woman. I also believe that there are times when the Woman will sometimes eclipse the Soldier. Trust me, it happens. Just 'cause a gal sheds a tear or two doesn't make her a 'weepy broad.'


	16. A Fine Line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This new _Campfire_ is dedicated to Susan (Steadfast). Her two excellent feedback notes generated this story (the notes are at the end). I love writing in response to a reader's prompt. As always, feedback rules. Remember, if you don't provide an email link, I cannot respond to your critiques, and I always reply to my readers (and if you provide the email link in your response without disguising it (i.e., using "-at-" instead of the "") ff dot net will eat it and show me nothing).

  
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A/N: This new _Campfire_ is dedicated to Susan (Steadfast). Her two excellent feedback notes generated this story (the notes are at the end). I love writing in response to a reader's prompt. As always, feedback rules. Remember, if you don't provide an email link, I cannot respond to your critiques, and I always reply to my readers (and if you provide the email link in your response without disguising it (i.e., using "-at-" instead of the "") ff dot net will eat it and show me nothing).

Thanks to Akaimom for her read-through and support. Huge, HUGE thanks to Leiasky for the additional beta and the real-time follow-up chat to work through the really rough spots.

Set after _Pretense_. On a planet I've made up _._ Ep synopsis: _When SG-1 is invited to the Tollan planet to attend a ceremony called a "Triad," they are shocked to discover it is actually a trial to determine the fate of their old friend Skaara. Daniel and O'Neill must argue a case against a mysterious Goa'uld named Zipacna to save Skaara's personality, arbitrated by the Nox._

 _  
**A Fine Line**   
_

"Thanks, Gunny." Sam acknowledged the Gunnery Sergeant's salute somewhat absently as she navigated her way through the tents. It still felt odd to her to be deployed with a Marine unit and she found that she still had to mentally translate rank insignia from time to time. Halfway through the campsite, oblivious to those around her, she stopped and squinted up at the sky, her brow furrowed in concentration. After a minute she shook her head and returned her attention to the device in her hands, muttering softly as she made some adjustments, then continued on toward the site her team had chosen for the duration of their stay. She missed the bemused glances of the scientist and the more . . . interested . . . looks of the soldiers as she passed.

As she picked her way around the outlying lines of the tents the other two SG teams had set up, Sam bit back a grin. The scientists from both teams had gravitated together to form their own little enclave while the soldiers of both units had, and she suspected that it was at Colonel Reeves' direction, encircled the scientists' tents with their own.

Interesting.

She stepped around the last tent to her own team's site and this time the grin stole across her features without restraint. Two tents, adjacent to each other, backs to the wind. In contrast to the larger camp's bustle and noise, hers was quiet. Teal'c and Daniel sat quietly, Teal'c preparing their meals while Daniel made notes in his ever-present journal, and the Colonel bent low, stacking a new load of firewood. Sam glanced over her shoulder at the other, larger, collection of tents, and then back to her own team's base.

Hmm. The two additional SGC teams had arrived after her team had identified the ruins. Hammond's request that SG1 stay to provide additional security had had the ring of 'make-busy' work to her when she'd received the orders, but she was too good an officer to question the command. SG-18's Colonel Reeves had taken one look at SG1's small campsite and ordered his team to set up about one hundred yards north, the slightly larger clearing better accommodating the bigger group of SGC personnel. Major Thomas, head of SG-17's Exploration and Archaeological team, had followed Reeves' example, waving directing his science team to follow the Marine combat team's example.

Sam understood Reeves' reasoning but still found the separated campsites . . . interesting.

The last of the sun's rays were painting the sky a rather washed-out blue-green when she dropped to a seat atop the jacket she'd left there earlier. Close enough to the fire to keep it warm but not enough to burn it, the padded cloth was doing just what she'd hoped it would do, warming her slightly chilled buns as she blew on her hands. She knew that she'd need to don the jacket soon if the temperature dropped as low as it had every other night since they'd arrived.

"All set?"

"Hmm?" Sam glanced up as O'Neill joined her, automatically shifting aside to make room for him.

O'Neill squatted beside her and gestured to the still settling campsite behind their own. "Everything good for tomorrow?"

"Yes, Sir." Sam accepted the steaming MRE he offered her with a nod of thanks, waving him to sit all the way down and join her. Across the fire Daniel and Teal'c were finishing up their dinners, Daniel eating so fast that Sam was afraid he'd choke. "Daniel, what's the rush?"

"I'm hoping to get a little more time up top." He waved toward the towering structure looming above them.

"Might as well slow down, we're done for the night." O'Neill glanced once at Sam before reaching for his coffee.

"Jack."

"Daniel." O'Neill's voice was quietly firm. "After the tracks Kellerman and Peña found this morning, no more night runs."

"But–"

Daniel's protest was cut off by a sharp look from O'Neill. The archaeologist looked to Sam for help, but she kept her expression carefully neutral and he finally sighed and nodded. "Any objection to me meeting with the others?"

Jack glanced over his shoulder at the larger campsite and shook his head. "Nope, just be sure to check in when you get back with whomever's on watch."

"Sure." Daniel tossed the now empty meal container onto the fire and stood, brushing his hands along the sides of his trousers. "I'll see you all later."

Teal'c nodded to Daniel as the younger man left, then turned to O'Neill and Sam. "If you have no objections, O'Neill, I will coordinate watch intervals with Colonel Reeves."

Sam's attention wandered as her CO and Teal'c spoke for a few minutes more. She pulled her meter out of her pocket and once again began fiddling with the controls while absently eating the remainder of her dinner. As the sun faded further, she bent lower over the device, tilting it to more clearly read the screen.

"I should probably fit this with a backlight," she muttered as, with one nudge too far, it fell from her knee into the dirt. She snatched it back up before the fire's heat could affect the readings in any way.

"Carter."

"Sir?" Sam answered automatically as she blew dust from the front sensor of the unit. The rubber covering would protect it from general damage, but they needed the sensor clear for accurate readings.

"Will you stop playing with that thing?"

Sam glanced up, surprised by the irritation in O'Neill's voice. "Uh. Sure. Sorry, Colonel. I didn't realize I was –" She stopped as O'Neill held up a finger.

"No, you're fine, Carter. Never mind." He ran a hand over his face. "Long day."

Sam nodded and, despite O'Neill's reassurance, dropped the handheld back into her bag.

O'Neill caught her movement and reached around her to pull it back out. "Really, Carter, it's okay." He set the device carefully back on her knee.

Sam shook her head and again slipped it back into her bag. "No, Colonel. I'm done anyway. "Can't get the GPS to align right."

"Hmm." O'Neill grunted and settled himself deeper onto their shared seat. "Fine. Whatever."

Sam studied him as the last of the sun's reflected light left them bathed in that eerie half-light of evening. The fire painted shadows across his features and she realized that her CO looked more tired than she could remember seeing him. "Colonel? Are you okay?"

O'Neill's only response was to moodily poke at the fire.

"It was good to spend time with Skaara," she tried again. They'd spent a week with the newly recovered boy-turned-man on Abydos after the Tok'ra removed his symbiote. A week spent doing nothing but relaxing–which for Sam and Daniel meant poring over the Abydos cartouche, while for O'Neill and Teal'c it meant playing with the children of the village–had done them all good. A much-needed break for all of them. Watching her Colonel stare into the fire, Sam wondered if he was missing the lighthearted fun of the week before.

Shrugging, Sam realized that until her CO was ready to talk, nothing was going to get him to speak up. She tossed her new empty MRE packet onto the fire and shifted to reach across O'Neill to grab his. As she dropped her leg to the ground and transferred her weight, her knee landed squarely on a small rock and she yelped in surprise. Canting sideways, Sam yanked her knee up and twisted, frantically reaching out for support. Her hands instinctively shot out to stop her fall, one slamming into O'Neill and the other landing directly in the burning embers.

Sam's pain-filled yelp was echoed by O'Neill's surprised shout and she found herself rocketing backward as her CO jumped away from the fire, clutching Sam to his chest. They landed with a loud oomph against the raised hillock behind them and Sam was too stunned at first to react. She was sprawled, her back to his chest, across O'Neill's body. He had one arm around her waist and the other reached over her shoulder, his forearm between her breasts and his hand flat against her abdomen, fingers tangled in her shirt. O'Neill groaned beneath her and Sam echoed his complaint with one of her own.

Before either could move, Teal'c crashed through the brush to land in a crouch, his eyes rapidly scanning the area for danger. Spotting both officers lying half in and half out of the firelight, he immediately moved to stand over them, ready to defend his fallen comrades from further attack.

As others from the larger camp arrived, Sam struggled to lift herself free of O'Neill's grip. "Colonel. Sir. You have to . . . ugh . . . oh. Ow. Thanks."

O'Neill released her and sat up, gently easing Sam off of his lap and to one side. He glanced up at Teal'c and the others who'd arrived, then frowned as he noticed the slight smirks on the faces of the SG-17's younger Marines.

"Reeves!" O'Neill snapped out, still supporting Sam as she swayed beside him, clutching her injured hand in her good one. "Get a kit over here! Carter's burned her hand pretty badly."

Oblivious to the looks the men were exchanging, Sam bent her head low, fighting back tears. _Damn, but this hurt!_ She heard Teal'c say something to O'Neill, and it was O'Neill's slightly angry tone that pulled her attention away from her hand. What could he be angry about? Sam glanced up and saw the last of SG-17's team disappearing in the brush. One young officer glanced back at her with a tiny smile on his face before turning to nudge his companion.

Sam felt her face flush with anger, that emotion crowding out –for just a moment–the pain in her hand.

"Stop it."

Sam turned to her CO. "Stop what?" She bit out, her tone sharper than she'd ever normally use with her Colonel.

O'Neill reached down and gripped Sam's elbows, lifting her to her feet. He guided her back to the fire and settled her on her jacket. He bent low and caught her still angry gaze. "Ignore 'em." He quirked a tiny smile at her. "They're idiots. _Marines_."

Sam flushed as she realized that he had seen what she had, and possibly more. She turned her attention back to her hand, blinking back tears of pain and frustration. She bit her lip as O'Neill began gently wiping the dirt and grime from her burned hand, her wrist held firmly in his grip. She barely heard his brief exchange with Reeves, so focused was she on keeping her hand still. She could already feel the skin tightening and pulling as her tissues swelled. The blisters already forming on her palm and fingertips would become more painful, she knew.

"Sam." O'Neill's voice was soft as he sought her attention. "Look at me."

Sam tore her gaze away from her burned hand to meet his gaze. The firelight was reflected there, and she focused on that.

"You with me?"

"I am," she whispered.

"Good." O'Neill gave her wrist another squeeze and then gently set her arm down atop his knee, palm facing up. "Keep your eyes on me, Carter. I'm gonna have to clean this. I'm sorry." He winced as she did when he poured cool water over her palm and fingers. "Sorry," he muttered, through gritted teeth.

Sam shook her head, determinedly keeping her eyes locked on his face. "'s okay, Sir. Just . . . do it." She sucked in a deep breath as he poured more water over her reddened hand, the runoff dripping down to land with a hiss on the hot rocks below.

When she hissed in pain again, O'Neill looked up at her and asked, his voice almost desperate with the need to distract her. "Carter, how is it that we use a 'GPS' on other planets?"

His question was so unexpected that Sam's head snapped up. She'd looked down at her hand for just an instant. "Sir?" She winced again when he hit a particularly sensitive spot.

"Sorry," he muttered again. "'GPS,' Carter. That's 'Global Positioning,' right?" When she nodded he continued. "I know how it works on Earth, with satellites, relative positioning and triangulation, but . . ." O'Neill's voice trailed off as he worked.

Sam sat, her mouth open, her pain forgotten for a moment. She stared at him, bent low over her hand, cradling it in one of his. His long fingers probed gently at the sensitive tissues as he worked, his brow was furrowed as he concentrated. When she remained silent he looked up, his warm eyes sparkling in the dancing light.

"Carter?" O'Neill nudged her knee with his own.

Trying to disguise her shock, Sam ducked her head. "Um, yes. Right." Taking a deep breath she tried to focus, and bit back another whimper as he dug free another bit of dirt. "GPS . . ."

"Yeah. Explain to me how we can have GPS here when we don't have six satellites handy." The Colonel popped his miniature flashlight in his teeth to better see the dirt still embedded in her hand. "Tho . . . annnd . . ." His words distorted by the tiny light, O'Neill gestured with his chin for Sam to continue.

Sam sat there, her mouth working, but no sound coming out. When he looked up at her again, Sam was certain this time she saw the glint of devilment in his eyes. "You . . . you're . . . apparently, _Colonel_ , you know very well how GPS works." She huffed out a breath, partly indignation and partly in response to the twinge as he pried another fragment of dirt from her skin.

"'Sh'plain to me an'way," he ordered her, around the flashlight clenched in his teeth.

She knew what he was doing, she did it often enough herself when one of them was hurt. Distraction, focus on something else. _Ouch!_ She flinched again as he continued to debride her hand, then determinedly began explaining it to him. "Well, Colonel. You obviously know how it works on Earth, though I think we're up to something like twenty-seven satellites now." When he nodded, she gave him a tiny smile despite her pain. "I guess . . . well, it's just a generic term, Sir. We use the markers dropped by the UAV for triangulation with the MALP to measure distance, with the 'gate as our zero-point." She shrugged, careful not to dislodge her hand from his grip.

O'Neill nodded again, and when he would have spoken Sam sighed and pulled the tiny light from his mouth. She dried it on her sleeve and then held it steady, trying not to think about the residual warmth on the metal, and _definitely_ not thinking about just where that little light had been seconds before.

"Thanks." O'Neill smeared Silvadene over the palm of her hand. "Kind of like 'Jaffa Kree!' eh?"

"Sorry?"

"You know. Kind of a catch-all term?" He glanced up at her again, and tiny smile lifted his lips. "C'mon, Carter. They say 'Jaffa, kree' for _everything_."

Sam stared at him for a long moment, consideringly. Despite the pain of her burns, she found herself smiling at him. He was right, she realized, or at least . . . kind of. As he continued to smooth the cooling cream across her burns she tried again, "Well, sort of. 'Jaffa, kree!' seems to mean anything from 'seize them' to 'off with their heads.' 'GPS' works as good as anything else, and everyone knows what that is, so . . . "

Despite the cream, her hand was stinging. Sam hissed again as he pressed a little too hard in one area.

"Easy," O'Neill muttered, slowing his ministrations. He waited a moment and added more cream to her palm. "So . . . not really a euphemism . . ."

Sam's eyebrow shot up. _First he tosses out a clear understanding of GPS systems and now another four-syllable word._ Covering her surprise, she shook her head. "No, more like . . . um . . .." Sam struggled to come up with another example.

The Colonel beat her to it, offering his own example of a generic word they all used. "Kleenex." Another tiny smile aimed her way.

"Coke," she countered, enjoying the game.

"Renting a video."

When she tilted her head he chuckled softly. "Carter, when's the last time you actually rented a _videotape_?"

O'Neill continued to slather her hand in salve as they talked, his long fingers soothing to her tender flesh. Sam closed her eyes briefly, savoring –despite the lingering, stinging pain–the sensation of his fingers cradling her hand, his palm warm against her wrist as he supported the injury, the enveloping security that came from placing her well-being –literally–in his hands. When his fingers stilled her eyes popped open, and she thought she sensed that he, too, had been enjoying the lingering contact.

"Damn." O'Neill cleared his through and then looked up at the rapidly darkening sky. "We really should get you–"

"Big cats, remember?"

Frowning, he caught her gaze. "I know, but it's worth it to get this treated asap."

"I'm good, Sir, at least 'til morning."

He gave her a long look and then nodded, clearly reluctant but realizing she was correct.

She followed his movements as he swathed her hand in the entire roll of gauze, glancing between his hands and his face. Her Colonel was so intently focused on his task that she could openly study him as he worked. As the pain faded she began to relax into his touch, slouching sideways to rest more of her weight against him as the adrenaline of the injury and the weight of the day's exertions caught up with her. Her mind wandered as O'Neill finished, and Sam's thoughts returned to her earlier puzzle.

"Sir?"

"Carter?"

"I was trying to work out how to better shore up the inner chamber and was unable to get a clear reading on the . . . um . . . GPS." They exchanged a smile as he continued to wrap her hand. "I mean, which of the three walls was the bearing wall. Got any ideas?"

"Dunno, Carter."

"Ow." Sam flinched again, despite the care he was taking. "Sorry, Sir. I'm trying to keep still."

"'S okay." He glanced up at her and added, "I've always been more a mechanical guy than a structural guy."

"Oh." The last of the gauze came off the roll and she watched O'Neill fumble in the bag for the med tape. "Huh."

"Undergrad ME. MS, same thing." O'Neill answered absently, his attention wholly focused on his ministrations.

Sam knew when he realized what he'd said when he paused, his body going still for just an instant, then continued with his work. "'ME,'" she frowned, thinking for a moment. "Mechanical engineering?"

"Yup." O'Neill bit off a piece of tape to secure the end of the gauze, laying it gently on the loose ends. He continued to smooth the tape in place, his attention focused on her, now. "Surprised?" His question was borderline sarcastic.

"About what, Sir?" She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing as she studied his face. "You mean that you're smarter than you pretend to be? No."

O'Neill nodded and looked away, his face closed, his eyes distant.

Sam shook her head slightly, then laid her hand across his where it still covered her gauze-wrapped fingers. "Colonel. Why would I be surprised that you . . . Sir, you wouldn't have made it past Major without an MA, and you can't even get _in_ to OTS without a Bachelor's."

"Yeah, well . . ." His tone self-deprecating, O'Neill gave her hand a final pat and released it.

"Don't do that." Sam said quietly, then added as an afterthought. "Sir."

O'Neill busily began to clear up the bits and pieces left over from his first-aid work. "Do what, Major?"

Sam winced at his use of her rank, but pushed on. She reached out and stilled his movements. "Don't." She waited for him to look up and then continued, "You think we," she gestured toward the tent Teal'c and Daniel would be sharing and then down at herself, "that _we_ don't know you're smart?" Giving his arm a little shake, Sam readjusted her position, crossing her legs and cradling her bandaged hand in her lap. "

"It's just a piece of paper, Carter. Something I did to keep me from being bored."

"Yes, Sir. Just like mine is." She snorted softly as she nudged him. "C'mon, Colonel. Nobody gets a Master's in engineering just 'cause they're . . . _bored_."

O'Neill, the last of the kit packed away, nodded. He slowly turned his eyes toward her and said softly, "You're right. The shattered leg and expectation of early separation were a big incentive." His brown eyes bored into her own. "And it was easier to focus on school than it was to face . . . issues . . . at home."

"Oh." Sam blinked in surprise at the unexpected revelations and even more by the pain in his voice.

"Forget about it, Carter." O'Neill turned away, reaching for the still-warm pot of water.

Sam reached out and stopped him, realizing that she'd done that a lot this evening. "Colonel. No. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pried –"

"You didn't."

"I . . . well, I feel like I did, Sir." She reached for her own mug and held it up for a refill. "And, I am sorry."

O'Neill said nothing as he filled both of their mugs. He took hers from her and set it down between them. He dropped a teabag into it before handing it back and then stirred his own coffee, his eyes once again on the fire.

Sam fiddled with her tea. She missed the lighthearted banter they'd shared earlier; she wanted to get it back and didn't know how. After a long moment she said, quietly, "Thank you, Sir." When he looked at her she raised her bandaged hand. O'Neill nodded, his gaze lingering on hers for a long moment before he turned back again at the fire. Sam sighed and, realizing she was chilled, moved to lift her jacket free so she could put it on.

The Colonel shifted sideways, then pulled the jacket away from her. He held it as she slid first her good arm in and then awkwardly maneuvered her injured hand into the sleeve. She gave up on trying to fit the bulky bandage through the wrist cuff and instead concentrated on the zipper. As she fumbled with it O'Neill's warm hands covered hers, stopping her movement.

They sat close, she kneeling on the ground, the Colonel mirroring her pose, his hands covering hers, clasped on the zipper held tightly at her waist. Sam knew that if she were to look up she'd find his face close . . . so very close . . . to hers. She took a deep breath and then slowly raised her eyes to his.

O'Neill face was painted in flickering light, the little fire not offering much in the way of illumination for either of them–just enough to edge them both in amber. His eyes, so often expressive and warm, were shadowed by the night–and by whatever pain still lingered there. Sam could see the day's stubble on his cheeks and she fought the urge to reach out to feel that growth. She knew it would be rough, as he could be, but underneath it all would be softness and warmth. Just as he was inside. Unable to break his gaze, she simply held it, giving in to the stolen moment between them.

When he began to slide the zipper of her jacket closed, she felt him withdraw slightly. He widened the space between them and then looked away, down at their joined hands. "Zipper," he said softly.

Certain she'd misheard him, Sam bent closer. As she did so she realized her mistake. That brought her _closer_ when she should be moving away. She slipped her hand from under his as he continued to close her jacket and rested it against his shoulder. "Sir?" Her voice was as soft as his in the velvety darkness.

O'Neill stilled his movement, his hand resting just under her breasts, his fingers tight on the tab of the zipper. He nodded toward the fastener. "Zipper. Another generic word." He remained still, his eyes on hers.

"Oh," she breathed.

Time stood still. The sounds of the larger SGC encampment faded, as did the rising wind and the occasional pop of the fire. All that was left was the harsh sound of his breathing . . . or was it hers? Sam couldn't be sure.

She was frozen.

She was alive and on fire.

She was both, all at once.

Sam felt O'Neill's gaze flicker across her face, saw his eyes drop to her lips and back up again. Knew that they were walking –kneeling, really–on a knife-edged line. A mighty fine line, as she'd said to Lya.

A shout of laughter from the camp above startled them both, and the rasp of the zipper as it finished its journey sealed the moment closed forever.

Sam's eyes slipped closed and she leaned back on her heels with a long, drawn-out sigh. A sigh she heard echoed by the man next to her. She breathed slowly in and out and attempted to regain her equilibrium. Fingers shaking slightly, she sat back down on the ground and reached for her now cool cup of tea and brought it to her lips, deliberately keeping her eyes on the fire and not on her Colonel. She could feel him beside her, and a small part of her noticed his own attempts to regain control.

"Hey, guys. I'll be over there for a bit longer." Both officers looked up as Daniel hurried back into the site.

O'Neill waved his understanding as Sam nodded, struggling to slow her heartbeat, hoping the flush she felt was hidden by the darkness. She watched as Daniel ducked into his tent and just as quickly back out again, a book clutched in one hand, his jacket in the other.

Glancing down at Sam's bandaged hand Daniel asked, "Sam, you okay?"

Not certain she could trust her voice to not give away her still-roiling emotions, Sam offered him a small smile and a nod. She took a sip another long swallow of her tea, not caring that it was cold.

"Good. Okay." Daniel nodded as he shrugged into his jacket, his book bouncing from one hand to the other. "Teal'c's playing chess with Sullivan, I'm helping Cutler translate some stuff from their last mission. What are you guys doing?" Without waiting for a response to his rapid-fire update or question, he gave them a brief wave and disappeared back into the brush.

O'Neill turned to Sam, his brown eyes warm on her face. His tone was easy, echoing Daniel's lightly asked question, but his expression much more serious. Intense. "What were we doing?"

Daniel's whirlwind visit had provided a regretful, certainly, but oh-so-necessary distraction. Sam her Colonel's gaze steadily, a small smile on her lips as she answered him. "Talking."

Giving her a ghost of a wink, O'Neill nodded. " _Talking_. Yep, that's a good word for it."

End.

Afterword: So, the prompt for this one came from Steadfast, as mentioned above. Below are our two (separate) email discussions that resulted in this _really_ long _Campfire_ , the longest yet.

 _Name: steadfast_

* * *

 _One of the things I am thinking about...A colonel in the modern USAF, much less a general, is an extremely intelligent, well-educated individual...When we meet him, he must have at least one masters degree. I would like to see a campfire story that explores that side of Jack. Hey, other people have suggestions!_

And this . . .

 _FR: steadfast_

 _RE: GPS_

* * *

 _Hi, this story was really sweet, but I have to air one of my pet peeves._

 _GPS. It stands for global positioning satellite. We have 6 specially dedicated satellites (from the US military), that do some kind of crazy triple triangulation. Overly simplified, the satellites send out pings that your receiver picks up. Your receiver needs pings from 3 satellites, uses the pings to figure out distance from the satellite, then determines your location and translates that into coordinates. The meat of the problem being that you need these specially dedicated satellites. Since we don't have them on other planets, you need to think up a different name for your direction locator, based on a different system, probably just some kind of receiver on the MALP._

 _FR: polrobin_

* * *

 _You know...you raise a valid and significant point! I did SAR for the Air Force and know damned well what GPS is and does and how it works and still I gaffed it in my own fic!_

 _Hmmm...Let's just say that GPS is a generic term, like Kleenex, for a rangefinder/ distance measuring/positioning device. Oops, but great catch. I think I'll work that into an upcoming Campfire, it brings up a great character moment for Jack, doesn't it?_

And, let me just add, this was a flippin' hard _Campfire_ to write! Here's hoping the _Urgo_ story is smoother!


	17. Sense and Sensibility

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Another _Campfire_. As always, feedback rules. Remember, if you don't provide an email link, I cannot respond to your critiques, and I always reply to my readers (and if you provide the email link in your response without disguising it (i.e., using "-at-" instead of the "") ff dot net will eat it and show me nothing).

  
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A/N: Another _Campfire_. As always, feedback rules. Remember, if you don't provide an email link, I cannot respond to your critiques, and I always reply to my readers (and if you provide the email link in your response without disguising it (i.e., using "-at-" instead of the "") ff dot net will eat it and show me nothing).

Set after _Urgo_. On a planet I've made up _._ Ep synopsis: _SG-1 receives alien brain implants that manifest themselves as a bizarre man (played by the wonderful Dom DeLouise), who tells them that they would not survive the procedure to remove him.._

 _  
**Sense and Sensibility**   
_

Jack stretched his long legs and eased back onto his hands with a soft groan. For as much as he liked to complain about the constant tree-covered planets they encountered, their sojourn this time to a sandy beach had proven to be no picnic. His calves and knees ached from hours of trekking in sand. He glanced over his shoulder to where Teal'c and Daniel were setting up their tent adjacent to his and Carter's, noting that the evening breeze had kicked up quite a bit in the last few hours. The cove in which they'd set up camp was sheltered by the natural curve of the land and the tents would further cut the wind. He'd briefly considered tucking the tents into the trees, but one look at the large, thick vines that covered the ground had changed his mind. It was much easier to set up a tent on sand.

Jack tossed another log onto the fire and watched his Second as she made her way up the beach toward them. She, like the rest of the team, had shed her BDU overshirt and was silhouetted against the setting suns of the planet. The larger of the two suns, still much smaller that Earth's own star, set fire to her hair, giving it an ethereal glow as the last rays of the daylight streamed ribbons gold and amber across the sky. The smaller sun had already set, leaving behind the afterglow of early evening. Sam, the beach, the suns, and the glowing sky made for a breathtaking sight, one Jack stored away in that secret box in his head.

The moment was an idyllic one and Jack allowed himself the fleetest of fantasies. For an instant there was only him and only her. No Daniel. No Teal'c. No uniforms, guns, Goa'uld . . . nothing standing in his way. Then the wind changed again and Jack was coughing and waving away the cloud of smoke that surrounded him. He blinked watery eyes just as Carter stepped into the circle of firelight. Fantasy over.

Or not.

"Okay, Sir?"

Coughing one last time, Jack nodded. He waved her to a seat beside him. "Didja find what you were looking for?"

"Yes, Sir." Carter slipped her P-90 down to rest on the large trunk Teal'c had earlier dragged there. She shook out the BDU shirt she'd left behind and set it beside the Colonel, then dropped down on top of the cloth with a small grunt. "Looks like there are ruins just around the bend. The fresh water stream we followed down has the remains of some sort of primitive water wheel too. Daniel will flip when he sees it."

She gratefully accepted the warmed MRE he handed her, then looked back over her shoulder for the remainder of her team.

"Daniel has second watch and Teal'c is doing his kel'no'reem thing," Jack explained.

"Hm. I didn't realize I was gone that long." She glanced at him before diving into her meal. "Sorry."

"No problem. Figured I'd call you if you were too much longer."

Sam took another bite of her dinner, then held it out, looking at the package thoughtfully. She took another bite, clearly savoring the taste of the normally bland meal. "Still really good, isn't it?"

"Yeah." He'd enjoyed his own far more than usual, as had Daniel and Teal'c. Jack waited for her reaction and when she looked up at him with vaguely frightened eyes, he smiled. "Relax, Carter. I'm pretty sure Urgo's all the way gone. I think he left us a little . . . gift. You know."

"Oh." Carter swallowed and then looked away thoughtfully. "How did Daniel put it? Urgo's presence 'increased acuity, especially in taste and smell'?"

He carefully kept his gaze on the fire, trying not to think of the obvious things Urgo could have enhanced for him. "Yeah, that."

"Huh."

"Yup."

The fire popped and both officers jumped slightly. Jack smiled as his Second looked sheepishly at him. He shrugged in return and lifted an eyebrow, unwilling to voice his thoughts. Yup, old Urgo could have enhanced a great many things. Good thing the large man hadn't expanded further on the whole 'Maui, big beaches, little bikini's' thought that Jack had been enjoying in the Control Room. He thought again of the look Carter had given him when Urgo had brought it up. He was still trying to figure out what the look on her face meant.

Carter crumpled her MRE bag and carefully packed it away in her trash bag. Jack watched as she fished out a tea bag and a flat Tupperware, and couldn't suppress a chuckle as she lifted the plastic container toward him, her expression inviting.

"S'mores, Carter?"

Shrugging, she balanced the container on one knee and pulled out the accoutrements for what had become their own dessert. "I know it's not pie, Sir, but . . ."

"It'll do in a pinch." Jack reached behind his side of the log and produce two sharpened sticks. At her look of surprise he shrugged. "Guess we'll save mine for another night."

Carter shot him a smile, the one that never ceased to turn his insides to absolute mush. "Yes, Sir."

He watched as she prepared the graham crackers and then took his own marshmallow to toast it. They worked together in companionable silence; a silence that Jack found refreshing after their time with Urgo. He watched as she meticulously placed her perfectly toasted marshmallow on her square of Hershey's chocolate, then had to look quickly away when she lifted the s'more to her mouth and began quickly licking the chocolate melting along the sides.

Lick.

He swallowed hard and concentrated on his own dessert, moving his marshmallow closer to the flame. Stealing another glance, he froze.

Lick. Nibble. Lick.

Jack lost his focus on his own treat and found he couldn't tear his gaze away. _Oh_ , he thought. _Lick it again, Carter_.

"Sir!"

Jack jumped and his eyes widened as Carter lunged for him. He yelped has one warm hand landed uncomfortably high on his thigh, the other reaching across him to grab the hand holding his roasting stick. He sucked in a breath as she guided the smoking end of his stick to her face, pursed her lips, and began to blow, trying to quench the sugary fire.

He hoped she hadn't heard his groan.

Carter suddenly stopped her blowing and froze. She slowly, very slowly turned to face him, and Jack realized that she'd not only heard him, she'd suddenly realized how . . . awkward their position was. She was almost in his lap, one hand still digging high into his upper thigh for balance, her fingers precariously close to . . . oh God. Her knee rested beside his, so tightly pressed to his that he could feel the warmth of her through their uniform trousers. Her other hand was wrapped around his where it gripped the stick with white-knuckled determination. And her face . . . as she completed her turn to him was inches from his own.

So close that he could see the dusting of freckles across her features.

 _Oh. My. God._

Carter's nose was . . . was . . . _freckled_. They were faint, but they were there. Just the faintest color of brown. Who could resist freckles?

He forced his gaze up from those oh-so-enticing freckles to her eyes. Wide, blue, and startlingly open.

And close.

The campfire was bright and added to the last rays of the day's sunlight just enough for him to really _see_ her eyes. They weren't the simple pools of blue he'd often thought of when she turned the force of their power on him. No, they were so much more. A delicate ring of darker blue outlined a more blue-grey iris. Tiny flecks of green flickered in their depths, and as the moment drew longer, Jack watched the skin at the edges of those eyes crinkle in amusement. That humor was echoed in the light that danced in Carter's warm, open gaze.

"I, uh . . ." She blew out a soft breath as she changed her position.

Jack held his breath as those amazing eyes flickered once down to his lips and back up again. "Yeah."

He risked a hand on her shoulder as she pivoted and dropped back down beside him, then busily focused on rescuing what he could of his burned dessert.

Carter retrieved her own dessert from the ground and frowned. She brushed half-heartedly at the sand that now caked the sugary treat and then, with a resigned shrug, tossed it into the fire. Jack looked at the s'more in his hand then back at her. _What the hell,_ he thought. _Mama always tought me that sharing is good._ He took a bite of his treat, then held it out to her.

"Carter?"

She turned her face to him, her eyes immediately finding and holding his. She glanced down at the treat in his hand then back up to his face. Jack felt his heart stutter and stall as Carter, her gaze intent upon his, slowly lifted her hand. Instead of taking the dessert from him, she wrapped her fingers around his wrist to hold him steady. He watched, dry-mouthed, as she bit into the graham cracker, marshmallow, and chocolate delight. His mouth dropped open slightly when her eyes slipped closed and she gave a small moan of delight. He tore his gaze from her face, focusing intently on the fire before them, his mouth sandpaper dry and his breath rasping slightly in his chest

 _Bad idea. Bad idea. BAD IDEA!_

The words chased themselves around in his head as Carter sat back, still savoring his . . . now her . . . dessert. Finally she blinked her eyes open and caught his gaze. She looked as stunned as he felt.

"Wow."

"Oh yeah."

"Sir, you're _sure_ Urgo . . ."

"Aren't you?"

She shrugged. "'Enhance our enjoyment of certain experiences . . .'," she again quoted Daniel and then trailed off, her gaze flickering again to his.

Jack broke the remaining bite of the s'more in half and handed part to her. He didn't think his heart could take it if her lips came into contact with his fingers. Or, truly, he didn't think the chain of command could take it, because sure as God made little green apples, if those lips touched his fingers, all bets were off.

"Carter. _That_ ," he waved his hand between them, "just now . . . wasn't about Urgo." Nope, whatever it was between them had nothing to do with Urgo. Not for him, anyway.

She studied him for a moment and, not for the first time, Jack was certain he could hear her thinking. Finally she shook her head, breaking his gaze and turning away. "No. I guess it wasn't. Isn't."

"Nope." Jack licked the last of the sugar from his fingers, then pulled his mug from its place by the fire. He took a sip and settled deeper into his seat, his shoulder brushing hers. She sat silently beside him, her attention on the fire. He could feel the tension thrumming through her, through both of them. A not-entirely-unwelcome tension, but a tension he wanted to relieve. After a long moment he nudged her shoulder gently. "I hear you and Fraiser are taking Cassie fishing?"

"Sir?" Carter turned surprised eyes to him.

"You know. Heading up to 'the lake,'" and here he made air quotes. "Doc says you're renting a boat."

"Oh." She turned again to the fire and matched his pose, shoulder-to-shoulder, her feet extended toward the flames. "It's not fishing, we're just renting a rowboat."

Jack smiled to himself. The tension was . . . less. Not gone, but now manageable. "Carter…what would you need a boat for, other than to, you know…fish?"

"Sir . . ."

Jack poured himself another cup of coffee and settled in to listen as Carter carefully explained to him the difference between being in a rowboat and fishing. The fire cracked and popped, each sound seemingly accompanied by another star appearing in the velvety black sky. As he listened, he leaned his head back and watched as the smoke wound its way lazily up to join the pinpoints of light that accompanied the moon.

Who needed anyone to enhance anything, really? This, as far as Jack O'Neill was concerned, was just perfect.

End.


	18. Homefires

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Another _Campfire_. Remember, if you don't provide an email link, I cannot respond to your critiques, and I always reply to my readers (and if you provide the email link in your response without disguising it (i.e., using "-at-" instead of the "") ff dot net will eat it and show me nothing).

  
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A/N: Another _Campfire_. Remember, if you don't provide an email link, I cannot respond to your critiques, and I always reply to my readers (and if you provide the email link in your response without disguising it (i.e., using "-at-" instead of the "") ff dot net will eat it and show me nothing).

I generally try to avoid "head-hopping," the practice of changing points of view within stories. However, this story takes place both on Earth and on Edora. You'll quite easily know who's where. I've always felt there was more behind Jack's "moving on" than the episode had time to explore.

Set during _100 Days_. Ep synopsis: _After a meteor strike buries the Stargate, O'Neill finds himself stranded on Edora where he is trapped for nearly four months._

 _  
**Homefires**   
_

Earth

Colorado Springs, CO

Stargate Command

2337 SGCS (SGC Standard Time)

55 Days

"Carter." Sam reached absently for the phone, her attention wholly on the pile of metal in front of her.

" _Major? I'm sorry to bother you, but there's a call for you on the outside line."_ The base operator sounded uncomfortable.

Sam sat up on her stool, frowning. "Who is it?" She glanced at the clock on the wall and frowned. "Wait . . . it's after eleven thirty, who could–?"

" _I don't know, ma'am, but she called asking for 'Captain' Carter."_

"Huh." She ran a hand through her hair and sighed. Now that her work had been interrupted, she realized just how tired she was. Biting back a yawn she told the operator to put the call through. After a long pause and several clicks she heard the line open up and could hear someone breathing on the other end of the line. "Hello?"

" _C-captain Carter?"_

"Yes, this is Major Sam Carter." The older woman's voice was vaguely familiar to Sam, but she couldn't quite place it.

" _Oh. Major. Oh, I . . . well, it has been some time. I . . ."_

"I'm sorry, but, who is this?"

" _Oh, no,_ I'm _sorry dear."_ The voice was suddenly more brisk, business-like. _"We have met, the one time, at Jack's little get-together early last year. You probably don't remember, but I'm–"_

"Mrs. Meyers. Of course." Sam dropped her head in her hands and tried to block the sudden flood of longing that swept through her at the memory of that afternoon. An impromptu team bar-b-que had turned into something of a mini neighborhood block party when Jack's neighbors had joined in the fun. Young Miles from across the street had roped SG1 into a wild and rollicking game of hide-and-seek when his sixth birthday party spilled into Jack's yard. Mrs. Meyers had stepped out onto her porch and Sam remembered the Colonel freezing beside her, anticipating a tongue-lashing of epic proportions. Instead the old lady had added to the party with two plates of cookies and a sharp wit that had even her CO laughing by the end of the day.

" _Capt– I mean, Major. Are you there, dear?"_

"I am. Sorry, ma'am, it's late."

" _I know. I've left several messages for you at your home number, but since the boys are back again, I felt I should try you at that base."_

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Meyers. What? What boys?" Maybe it was the late hour, but Sam was having a hard time following the conversation.

" _Oh. I assumed Jack told you. He gave me your numbers for emergencies. I am assuming the Air Force has sent him off again?"_ Mrs. Meyers' voice trailed off, the question in her voice obvious.

"You could say that, yes."

" _I thought as much. Must have been last-minute, as he usually lets me know not to worry. Anyway, dear, there are several boys who have been in and out of Jack's backyard in the past days."_

"Boys? It's not Miles, is it?" Sam asked, referring to the Colonel's endearing young neighbor, though she couldn't imagine what the boy would be doing in her commanding officer's yard.

" _Oh no. These are older boys. Up to no good, I'm sure. I was hoping perhaps you could send a member of your little team could come by to make sure the house is all right? Perhaps that charming big fellow from Africa? I would do it myself, but . . ."_

"Oh, no, Mrs. Meyers. It's much too late for you to be out there." Sam frowned again as she noted that it was nearing midnight. "They're there now?"

" _Yes, dear. You won't . . . won't be coming alone, will you? It's so dangerous for a young woman."_

"I'll be fine, Mrs. Meyers. Stay put and I'll be there in about twenty minutes."

Fifteen minutes later Sam flicked off the headlights of her car as she pulled into her missing CO's driveway. She sat for a moment, trying not to think about how much she wished he'd meet her at the door and say something witty, like, "Hey, Carter." She quietly closed the door of her Volvo and, forgoing the front door, stepped around to the side gate. The wooden door was ajar and she eased her way through the opening, giving her eyes a chance to adapt to the deeper darkness of the back yard. She immediately spotted the boys Mrs. Meyers spoke of.

Teenagers, eight of them from what she could see, sat huddled around the firepit at the bottom of the yard, half in silhouette and half highlighted by the light of the dancing fire. As she made her way slowly and quietly toward them, she tried not to resent their easy camaraderie as they sat around the firepit. Moving closer, she saw that Mrs. Meyers hadn't been entirely correct, some of the 'boys' were in fact young girls. And one of those girls was sitting in _her_ spot.

The spot in which she sat when Ja– Colonel O'Neill was home.

This time the stab of pain was swift and sharp and she was unable to bite back the gasp that accompanied the sudden strike. Immediately the murmured conversations around the fire stopped.

Sam stood there and watched as the kids slowly rose, circling around to put the fire between them. _Tactical mistake_ , she thought absently. Putting the fire between them made it harder for them to defend themselves, not that they would need to. It also made it harder for them to see her, with the bright fire killing their night vision. _You can take the girl from the battlefield, but you can't take the tactical training from the girl_ , the wicked voice in her head—sounding suspiciously like the Colonel—teased as she unconsciously analyzed the defensibility of their positioning.

One boy, the one who'd been cuddling with the girl in Sam's spot, glanced at the others and then stepped forward. "Hey. Uh. We, ah, thought the house was, um . . ."

"Empty?" Sam waited while they nodded. "And that made it okay?" She waved toward the firepit and this time the pain that came was familiar.

S'mores. They'd been making s'mores. _Oh, God._

Now she was irrationally angry. They were just kids, but they were kids doing what she couldn't in a place that had lost its heart. She waved the young spokesman forward. "This house is not your summer camp. Clean it up. You have ten minutes."

She stepped back, arms crossed and watched while the teens scrambled to clean up wrappers, paper plates, and roasting sticks. They worked quietly, muttering to each others, and doing a good job of policing the area. When they were done, the teen who'd spoken up approached her again.

"Look, uh, ma'am."

"Major."

The boy swallowed hard and then nodded. "Major. Um, the dude who lives here . . . he's really awesome, and he said we . . .." His voice faded as he noted the hardening expression on Sam's face. "Okay, sorry. Busted. Look, the guy's gone a lot. Army or something . . . and, well, we just wanted a place to chill."

Sam studied the boy for a moment. Not more than seventeen, she admired the way he'd stepped up for the group. But . . . this couldn't happen again. "Yeah, look." She rubbed a hand through her hair and down the back of her neck, suddenly overwhelmingly tired. "Look," she said again. "You can't just . . . just set up in someone's yard. Colonel O'Neill would really be upset if something happened to one of you in his yard."

"We're always really careful to put the fire out," the teen said, his voice sullen.

"Not the point."

"Yeah." He turned to take care of the fire but Sam stopped him.

"Leave it. You guys go home." She glanced at the others and gave them her most forbidding 'Major Carter's pissed' look. "Don't do this again, folks. You dragged me out here in the middle of the night. If it happens again, I won't call the cops, I'll call the MP's from the base." She paused, catching everyone's eyes at least once. "Clear?"

A subdued chorus of 'clear's' and 'yes ma'am's' followed and Sam watched as the group quickly made their way out of the yard. When she heard the gate click closed she turned toward the fire and blew out a long sigh.

Stepping closer to the fire, she nudged 'her' cushion back to its proper position and then, with another sigh that quickly slipped to a sob, she dropped down, her legs crossed, and her arms wrapped tightly around her middle. Tears slipped silently down her cheeks as, for the first time since the wormhole snapped shut behind her 55 long days ago, she let herself feel. Let the tears come, unchecked.

Sam Carter cried as she did everything else. Neatly, silently, with no dramatic wailing or whining. Just . . . tears and pain. Giving in to the exhaustion that had become her constant nagging companion, Sam tilted her head back and rested it on the bench behind her as she had done some many times before, letting her eyes and imagination wander the stars above. She automatically focused on the approximate direction of Edora and wondered what the Colonel was doing. Whether he'd given up yet. Whether he'd found the gate. Whether he had survived.

Whether he missed her as much as she did him.

S J S J S J S J S J S J S J S J

Edora

Laira's Village

Village outskirts

Four hours until dawn

55 Days

The fire popped and crackled as Jack added another log to the fire. It had taken him just over three weeks to realize that he needed this. This reminder of . . . home. He was losing hope and clinging desperately to anything that brought him closer to home, even in his imagination. So the nightly fire had become his ritual. His . . . touchstone.

He blew out a long, lingering sigh. Despite all of his attempts over the last fifty-five days to uncover the Stargate, he had found nothing. Not a scrap of metal, or naquadah enhanced tribbles, or whatever it was.

Nothing.

A small part of him held out some home that the utter _lack_ of anything gate-related meant that there was still some hope. That somehow, some . . . _way_ , the SGC would— _Carter_ would—be able to find a way.

But as the days wore on, his hope had faded until there was just the barest glimmer left.

Tonight, after a casually dismissive remark by Laira about his missing team, Jack had abruptly risen from the dinner table and stalked out into the night. Gathering wood as he went he had arrived at his hastily sketched out small firepit on the edge of the trees overlooking the Stargate clearing—or, more correctly, the firepit overlooking the now meteor-scarred valley where the Stargate once stood—and thrown the logs down. His movements were almost frantic as he haphazardly assembled his log pile and lit it, anxious to get the blaze going.

Now he sat back and watched the flames climb higher, wishing it cast enough light to illuminate his digging area. Then he stopped. Who was he kidding? He could dig all the way to . . . well, not to China, but whatever was its equivalent on the other side of this damned planet—and he'd still be facing the same problem. He was pretty sure that if the gate _was_ intact it was so buried there was no way he'd uncover it alone.

Jack sighed again and leaned back against the tree, watching the smoke spiral up into the sky, shading the unfamiliar stars. He idly made up names for the star groupings, wondering which one led to Earth. God, he wished Carter were here. She'd know which way was home and she'd know just where to find the damned gate.

And, he admitted to himself, if Carter were here he wouldn't mind being stranded. Or at least not as much.

As the fire crackled and burned, Jack slowly fed it, trying to pretend that his team, and especially his Second, were just out of reach of the dancing, deceptively cheerful firelight. That this was just another ordinary campfire.

Trouble was, he had never really been good at pretending.

S J S J S J S J S J S J S J S J

Earth

Colorado Springs, CO

Jack O'Neill's back yard

2317 SGCS (SGC Standard Time)

95 Days

Sam eased herself down onto the cushion beside the fire. She carefully balanced a steaming paper cup from the local coffee shop as she fed the fire. Ever since the night Mrs. Meyers had called her to oust the neighborhood teens, Sam had made it a practice to come by every few days. She couldn't pinpoint exactly when she'd started building her own campfires, but now couldn't resist building them each time she came.

It made her feel closer to him, somehow.

Connected.

Three months. Ninety-five days. An eternity.

As she began to relax, she though again of the conversation she and Janet had had immediately after the Colonel had been stranded. She had to believe he was just stranded and . . . waiting. Not dead. Never dead.

 _Sam glanced up as Janet approached, gratefully noting the cup of coffee the other woman placed before her._

" _Daniel says the Tollan could have a ship in the vicinity of Edora some time right next year."_

 _Sam's heart sank. She'd been hoping the Tollan would be able to help where the Asgard could not. She thought of her CO, imagined him wondering what was taking so long. She was shocked to hear herself say out loud, "He shouldn't have to wait that long." She sharpened her focus on the particle generator she was building, feeling Janet's gaze zero in on her._

" _You miss him."_

" _Yeah," she allowed. A Second was allowed to miss her CO, right? Of course right. Fraiser's pause was longer that Sam was comfortable with, and she held her breath while she waited for Janet's response._

 _Finally, the CMO lowered her voice and asked softly, "Is this a problem?"_

" _No," Sam quickly assured Janet, keeping her attention firmly in the device in front of her but not really seeing it. "No, of course not."_

 _She waited until Janet left the room before blowing out a long, relieved breath. Bullet dodged._

"You can lie to Janet, Sam Carter, but not to yourself." Startled to hear her own voice, Sam realized she'd spoken the words aloud. She considered again Janet's questions. Yes, she missed him. She missed her CO. She missed his caustic humor, his wry wit.

She missed . . . _him._

She missed the Jack O'Neill sarcasm, the Jack O'Neill rule-bending when it was needed, the Jack O'Neill . . . everything.

Jack. She missed Jack.

His . . . smell. Oh, God. She missed his smell. Missed the wafting scent of his soap and shampoo tangling with hers when she showered after he did in the locker room. The subtle aftershave he wore that lingered in the air above the bench before his locker. The scent of . . . him. She added another log to the flames and thought wistfully of past fires in this spot, the smell of the smoke reminding her of another part of him that she missed. The fresh-cut grass mixed with woodsmoke smell that was 'Jack O'Neill at home' to her. She missed all of it. All of him.

Softly, timidly, lest the crickets overhear and alert the media, Sam whispered the words aloud, "I miss you . . . Jack." The fire popped and she instinctively ducked as her words fell onto the damp grass, absorbed into the solitude of the night. Risking a glance up at the sky, she couldn't help but smile a sad little smile at her folly.

Of course the world hadn't ended. Lightning hadn't struck. The Earth had not stopped spinning. She had done nothing more monumental than whisper four words into the darkness, one more forbidden that the others. A name she'd never been invited to say and a word that did little to convey the depth of her loss.

Because it was truly a loss, and one she recognized, finally. Not just to Earth. Not just to the Air Force. Not just to the SGC. Not just to the team, to SG-1. But . . . to her. For her. The loss of Jack O'Neill was a loss to her, to Sam Carter, and for the first time Sam began to understand how deep that loss was.

And, as deep as her conviction was that her particle beam generator would work, _had_ to work, some small part of her despaired.

Because for the first time in her life she was faced with a loss she wasn't entirely sure she could survive.

S J S J S J S J S J S J S J S J

Edora

Laira's Village

Village outskirts

Four hours until dawn

95 Days

The sun was rising slowly above the newly scarred hills as Jack rose and stretched his stiff muscles. He stood and kicked dirt over the remnants of his little firepit.

That was it.

The last one.

It was over.

He'd asked Laira for one last night on the ridge, alone, after their conversation on the road yesterday. As he obliterated the remains of his last link with home, he thought again of her request.

 _Jack stood silently, waiting for the Edoran woman to speak. He idly watched the wind catch and play with the wild curls of her hair, his attention wandering—as it so often did lately—only to snap back at her next words._

" _I want you to give me a child."_

 _Disbelievingly, Jack could only echo her, "A child."_

 _Laira nodded, her eyes intent upon his. "I wanted to be patient. I wanted to wait until you had let go of the life you left behind. Until you knew that you belonged with us. Tonight, there is something in your eyes."_

 _Jack closed his eyes against the wave of pain her words brought. Yes, just today he had realized that he had to let go, to move forward. For his own sanity, if nothing else. He still believed they would come for him, but he . . . he owed it—to himself if no one else—to live. To prepare. To stay alive and whole so that . . ._ someday _. . . when they did come for him, he'd be ready. Opening his eyes he realized she was waiting for a response. Gently, he said, "Laira. You should know, a part of me is never going to let go of what I left behind."_

 _As she reached up to kiss him, Jack whispered goodbye to Earth, to . . . home. He wasn't ready yet to give Laira what she'd asked for, but he was, he thought, ready to take a step forward._

When they'd gotten back to Laira's home his resolve had failed him, and Jack had told her he needed a night away. Now, as the sun rose on the first day of his new—well, he couldn't really call it a life, he realized, not when all that made life worth living was more than a galaxy away—his new _existence_ , he stood back and stared.

Nothing remained. Not of the 'gate that had brought him here, nor of the tiny firepit that had brought him a tiny bit closer to home. Of his tiny stone circle, an unconscious echo of the larger one build by the Ancients, no trace remained. Jack looked from the scuffed ground on the ridge to the scarred emptiness of the valley below and sighed.

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his worn BDU trousers, the frayed edges of the material tickling the backs of his hands. Stepping close to the edge of the ridge, he stared, first down at the empty place that had held the gate, then up into the heavens. The rising sun was quickly overtaking the shining stars of the night as he carefully studied the sky. As the last of the stars faded into the rosy light of dawn, Jack said one last goodbye. It had taken him until the smallest hours of the night to finally admit that it was Carter whom he missed the most. Carter who was 'home' to him. It was Carter to whom he looked, not only for rescue, but for . . . home.

And it was to Carter that he must say goodbye before he could take that tiny step forward. He had some small hope that she might feel for him as he did for her, though now he might never know. Now . . . he knew that for his own well-being, as well as for his own sense of honor, he had to make peace with that part of him that hoped—someday—for more.

The wind shifted and brought with it the last of the scent of woodsmoke that hung in the air, reminding him of how much he loved that scent on Carter. It mixed smoothly with the scent of her shampoo and her skin cream, creating a delicious 'Carterness' that he . . . that he loved. For a long moment Jack let his thoughts linger on that remembered scent, and the memories of laughter and shared looks and innocent touches that went with it. Then the breeze picked up again, rustling the trees and taking with it that sweet scent and memory.

Jack's eyes found the brightest star still twinkling above, valiantly fighting against the advance of day. He watched it until the inevitable happened, the brightening day slowly overtook it and, with one final flash, it disappeared into the heavens. When he could see it no longer, he stepped back from the ridge and turned toward his . . . new home, his whispered words lingering on the morning breeze.

"Goodbye, Carter."

End.


	19. Another Hundred Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you to all who read and review, and to those who simply read. I check my stats, so I know you're enjoying the series. Thank you. As I wrote in the last _Campfire_ , I generally try to avoid "head-hopping," the practice of changing points of view within stories. However, this story takes place both on Earth and on Edora. You'll quite easily know who's where. Extra gooey chocolate chip cookies to Tammy (Leiasky) for the on-the-drop beta.

  
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A/N: Thank you to all who read and review, and to those who simply read. I check my stats, so I know you're enjoying the series. Thank you. As I wrote in the last _Campfire_ , I generally try to avoid "head-hopping," the practice of changing points of view within stories. However, this story takes place both on Earth and on Edora. You'll quite easily know who's where. Extra gooey chocolate chip cookies to Tammy (Leiasky) for the on-the-drop beta.

Additional author's note in afterword. Little hint: days are numbered as "+1," +10," etc. to indicated number of days since Teal'c went through to Edora.

Set during _100 Days_ in that tiny fade-to-back between Jack's calling Teal'c "One stubborn son of a bitch" and the painful ending scene. Ep synopsis: _After a meteor strike buries the Stargate, O'Neill finds himself stranded on Edora where he is trapped for nearly four months._

 _  
**Another Hundred Days**   
_

Earth

Colorado Springs, CO

Stargate Command

0654 SGCS (SGC Standard Time)

\+ 1 Day

Major Samantha Carter bit her lip and tried to control the racing of her heart as Sergeant Harriman entered the last coordinates into the system. This was it. They'd given Teal'c his four hours of air plus another twelve hours for safety. She'd argued with Daniel for the additional time, stating that if he _had_ managed to break through to the surface to get more air, Teal'c would need additional time to carve a hole big enough through which to climb.

The wait was killing her.

As much as it had been her idea, she was dying a little inside with every hour that passed. Close. They were so close. Had he made it? Had he been able to cut through? How deep was the gate buried? If he got through, would there be anyone there to meet him?

"Major, we're ready when you are," Harriman's soft voice pulled her from her thoughts. Sam glanced up at Hammond and, seeing his nod of approval, she reached over to press the button. She would do it, this wasn't something she could put on an NCO. Her finger hovered over the "enter" key on the keyboard as last-second doubts assailed her. What if he was close, but not quite through? What if he was–

"Major."

Sam twitched at the General's single word, then resolutely tapped the key to activate the gate. As Harriman needlessly counted down the locked chevrons, Sam leaned back and, as unobtrusively as possible, wiped her sweating palms clean on her BDUs.

She was exhausted and from the looks she'd seen Daniel, Hammond, and Fraiser exchange earlier, she knew she probably looked as bad as she felt. It didn't matter. If this didn't work, if the wormhole they were about to establish did nothing more than vaporize the body of a good and loyal man, then it was over.

They'd have to wait another nine months for the Tollan ship to get to Edora to discover the fate of Jack O'Neill. As the last chevron snapped into place and the gate kawooshed open, Sam wasn't entirely certain she could last another nine months.

"Wormhole established," said Sergeant Harriman into the suddenly quite control room.

Sam glanced again at Hammond and at his nod she raised a slightly shaking hand and pressed the comm button. "SG-1, this is Stargate Command, do you copy, over?"

Silence rang through the control room.

Sam counted to ten in her head and tried again. She could feel the tension rising in the room, echoing her own rising fear. "SG-1, Teal'c, this is Stargate Command, _please respond_ , over."

" _Stargate Command, this is Colonel Jack O'Neill. Teal'c is here, we're . . . we're here. We're here. Over."_

Sam went limp as those behind her erupted in cheers. She swallowed hard and blinked rapidly as Siler and Daniel exchanged hi-fives. Harriman yanked off his glasses and kept wiping them with his handkerchief, his eyes shining and his cheeks flushed with excitement.

Giving a silent prayer of thanks, she ducked her head for a moment before keying the mic again. There were there. They were alive. Now it was time to get them home.

S J S J S J S J S J S J S J S J

Edora

Laira's Village

Village outskirts

Two hours to midnight

\+ 10 Days

Jack yawned and stretched, feeling the pull of abused muscles across his back and shoulders as he moved. He watched as Teal'c added another log to the fire, idly considering the work they'd accomplished in just ten short days.

Ten days since he'd sprinted the mile from Laira's home to the gate. Ten days since he'd heard Teal'c's exhausted voice, since he'd dug with frantic, bleeding fingers to find Teal'c bright eyes shining up at him.

Ten days since he heard the voice over the radio. Her voice. Her. The person to which he had, just a week earlier, whispered a silent goodbye on strange stars in a distant sky.

Carter. He'd talked to Carter that day, and every day since, but nothing would beat that first, initial reconnection.

" _SG-1, this is Stargate Command, do you copy, over?" Carter's voice jumped out at him, stirring him from where he lay amidst a tumble of rock and debris. He was still breathing heavily from the effort of hauling his Jaffa friend from his newly-formed cave._

 _Teal'c, too, was showing signs of his efforts. For the first time in Jack's memory, the larger man looked_ tired _. Really tired. Jack watched as Teal'c swiped a hand toward his radio and missed._

" _Let me, T." Jack reached over and pulled the mic free from its clip. Bringing it to his lips he opened his mouth, but not words came out._

" _SG-1, Teal'c, this is Stargate Command, please respond, over."_

 _The tension and barely hidden fear in Carter's far-away voice did it. Jack keyed the mic and responded, "Stargate Command, this is Colonel Jack O'Neill. Teal'c is here, we're . . . we're here. We're here. Over."_

 _Jack could barely make out Carter's words over the cheers echoing in the background. " . . . to hear that, Colonel. How's Teal'c? We wanted to make sure to give him extra time to get clear of the, ah, wormhole burst."_

" _Thirty minutes earlier, Carter, and the kawoosh would have gotten him. But . . ." Jack glanced at his rapidly recovering teammate. "He's good. It's well into night here, Carter, so we're gonna crash for a while. Ball's in your court for contact since we have no DHD."_

 _This time the delay was longer and Jack figured she was discussing things with Hammond. After a minute her voice came back over the radio once again. "Colonel, if you have no objections, let's go with a 12-hour check-in. Tell Teal'c to get some rest."_

" _12-hours, got it." Jack paused as he lay there, his head on a pile of rubble, his hand still wrapped around the mic. He was reluctant to sever the contact now that it had been made._

" _SGC copies, 12-hour contact, on the hour." Carter's voice was brisk as she acknowledged his response._

 _Jack had no idea who was in the control room with her. Judging by the cheers he'd heard earlier, he guessed a significant number of people. He considered his words carefully for a moment, then keyed the mic again. "Carter? Looking forward to it. O'Neill out."_

"Should you not be returning to the village, O'Neill?"

Teal'c's quiet voice drew Jack back to the present. He'd been pulling double-duty for days, along with the Jaffa and the rest of the villagers, working to uncover the fallen portal. Laira had told Jack to offer Teal'c space in her . . . their . . . dwelling, but Teal'c had taken one look at the small home and politely declined. Jack hadn't missed the man's careful inspection of the home and knew his friend had figured out that Jack was no longer sleeping on the floor of the kitchen. Neither man had discussed it, but Jack sensed a . . . discomfort coming from the one-time first prime.

Teal'c had instead resurrected Jack's recently abandoned firepit and chosen to set up camp near the stargate. He said it was to enjoy the chance to sleep under the stars without fear of attack, but Jack wondered if it was something else. Not that he'd ever ask, of course.

"No. Not tonight. I thought I would stay out here. If you don't mind the company."

"I do not." He paused, the silence adding significance as only he could. "O'Neill." Teal'c's dark eyes were pinpoints of light in the deep darkness of the Edoran night. "I have not asked, but . . . will you be returning with me once the stargate has again been put upright?"

Jack's jaw fell open. Like there was any _doubt_? "Well . . . _yeah_." He was lost for words and just stared at the Jaffa in confusion.

Teal'c turned to face him, his body so unnaturally still that Jack felt the need to fidget just to have _some_ movement. "It appears that you have become a part of the community. That you have established . . . ties. I did not wish to presume." He paused, then turned the full force of his gaze upon Jack. "However, if you do wish to remain, I would know early that I may be the one to . . . share the news with SG-1."

Jack added another stick to the fire as he considered his next words. "T. I . . . I know how it looks. And–"

"You owe me no explanation, O'Neill"

"I know. Look, Teal'c, I have a commitment at home. To the Air Force. I can't just," he shrugged, "walk away."

"Is that your wish?"

"I . . . no. God, T. What the hell is this?" Jack sat forward and jabbed angrily at the fire, wondering at the waves of guilt that clawed at his back.

"'This' is nothing, O'Neill. I merely wish to be prepared should I need to speak first with . . . others."

"There's nothing. You have nothing to tell them."

Jack jammed one last log into the fire and then rolled over, facing away from both the fire and Teal'c. No, he sure as hell wasn't staying on this rock. Why would Teal'c ask him? Sure, he and Laira had a . . . a . . . oh hell. Jack frowned into the darkness. Against his better judgment and his instincts he'd said goodbye to his home. To Earth. To . . . everyone. And now he was going back. Now he had to figure out how to say goodbye to what he had started here.

He hated goodbyes.

S J S J S J S J S J S J S J S J

Earth

Colorado Springs, CO

Jack O'Neill's back yard

0021 SGCS (SGC Standard Time)

\+ 30 Days

Sam bit back a groan as she settled on the cushion near the firepit. It was growing colder now, and she would probably have to stop these twice-weekly exercises in "checking" on the Colonel's place. A quick drive-by to bring in the mail and water the plants would have to suffice. She could feel the bite in the air as the middle of the night came and went, the temperature dropping lower even as she sat there.

A month.

A month since she'd pressed that mic button a second time and asked again for Teal'c, or the Colonel, to come in. A month since . . . _he_ . . . not Teal'c had answered. Sam closed her eyes as she relived that moment. The relief and gratitude that filled her. She remembered how her hands had shaken even more in relief, how Harriman had smoothly taken over the computer controls, allowing her to focus only on reestablishing contact.

That initial event had been just the beginning. Where before Sam had literally worn herself down to an exhausted shadow of herself building the impossible and redefining science as they knew it, now she and Siler had worked frantically to devise a system that would allow them to deliver supplies without them falling back through the gate and disintegrating instantly.

Sam chuckled as she reviewed Siler's latest idea. It would probably work. The sergeant had taken his boys to a hockey game two weeks ago and apparently to get the crowd fired up, the team promoters fired t-shirts high up into the stands with some sort of air gun. Siler had blushed when Sam responded enthusiastically, and together they'd spent the time since building "the world's biggest air gun," as O'Neill had put it when they explained it.

O'Neill.

Tipping her head back on the bench behind her, Sam let her thoughts wander. She'd known he was alive. Had never doubted it. Now, to be so close, and yet unable to see him. To talk with him. It was frustrating.

And . . . not.

Sam had recognized long ago that her feelings for her CO ran deeper than they should. Than was appropriate. She'd lied and reinterpreted orders to go back for him after Hathor infested him with a Goa'uld. So, yes. She knew she felt . . . more.

How much more hadn't hit home until this all began. Damn the Edorans and their fire-rain.

And now that he was close. That they were close to getting him home, she had to figure out what to do next. Or what not to do. There was no question, really. O'Neill was her CO, she was his Second. She loved being that to him too much to ask for a transfer. As she always did, Sam's mind whipped rapidly through her options. Request a transfer. Then they'd be on different schedules, different teams, and she'd never see him. Or if she did see him, it would be rarely. And there was no guarantee that she'd be put on a front-line team, though she wasn't sure she wanted to be on one without the Colonel. Or Teal'c. Or Daniel.

Another option would be to . . . Sam blushed into the darkness. Yeah, like she'd ever just _throw_ herself at him. Okay, maybe when under the influence of an alien virus, but . . . in real life? No.

A breeze kicked up and swirled the embers around the base of the logs, and Sam bit back another smile. She did that more often these days . . . smile. Just the prospect of having him back made that happen.

Tomorrow would be another step. Tomorrow they'd fire the air gun and get some heavy-duty supplies out to Edora.

Tomorrow he'd be one more day closer to home.

S J S J S J S J S J S J S J S J

Edora

Laira's Village

Village outskirts

Four hours past dawn

\+ 43 Days

"Incoming!" Jack's shout caused the villagers to scatter. A floop and a whoosh signaled the arrival of the last container and it landed with the precise accuracy the others had. Jack shook his head. Leave it to Carter. Even across a galaxy her accuracy was pretty much pinpoint. Jack scrambled back into the meteor-gouged ravine and headed to where the younger members of the village were already climbing up the makeshift bed of branches and boughs that made up the impromptu "landing pad."

" _Sir? That's the last one."_

Carter's voice was so crisp and clear that Jack felt almost as if he could just turn and find her behind him. He continued his trek toward the piles of boxes they'd pulled, one-by-one from the pad. "Yup, we're good here, Carter. Got anything else for us?"

There was a long pause and Jack used the time to catch his breath. The rocky ground around the gate was littered with even more debris as they continued to clear the overturned portal, not to mention the remnants of the other boxes that had been shot through the 'gate for the last month. Finally, her voice came through again, this time, or maybe Jack was imagining it, softer, quieter.

" _Ah, yes, Sir. We've got one more package. There's no need to clear the pad, this one's a pack."_

"A pack?"

" _Yes, Colonel. Some things Teal'c suggested and . . . some things from home I . . . ah, we thought you might be missing."_

Jack waved the kids away from the now empty pad. Once they were clear he gave the go-ahead. Seconds later a standard-issue SGC black duffel flooped through the gate to fly in a graceful ark and land with a muffled thump on the bouncing branches.

Jack signed off and waited for the gate to close before he reached up and pulled the bag down to rest at his feet. He checked the sun angle and then slung the bag over his shoulder. He'd drop it by the campsite and check it out later. For now, though, he had a cantilever to build.

It was well into night before Jack had a chance to get back to the bag. He'd had an uncomfortable moment with Laira earlier and he bit back a frown as he settled himself beside the large fire Teal'c had built.

 _Jack glanced up from where he was bracing the metal strut to see Laira walking away from the camp carrying the bag Carter sent through earlier. He waved one of the men to take his place and trotted quickly after the Edoran woman. "Hey. Hey! Laira! Wait." He tugged her arm to stop her. "Where ya goin' with that stuff?"_

 _Laira tilted her head to study him for a long moment. "These are the things your people sent through for you, 'for home' they said."_

" _Ah. No. Carter said things_ from _home, not_ for _home." Jack gave the woman a small smile. "They're really . . . really meant for me, you know."_

 _Placing the bag on the ground between them, Laira stepped back. "I do not mean to intrude. It appeared that your people sent some of your old clothes, and perhaps some food. Do they not believe that we feed you here?" Her question was slightly defensive._

 _Jack lifted the bag to his shoulder and tried to smile. Damn, he . . . he really wanted to find a way to end this. He'd tried talking to her, but the woman would just smile patiently and step away. "Laira. These are not my_ old _clothes, they are my . . . my_ real _clothes."_

" _Has none of this been real to you, then?"_

 _Frowning, Jack fought down the voice in his head that shouted, 'Not as real as the SGC. As . . .' Instead he answered softly, "Laira. It was . . . it is real. It's just that . . ."_

" _You have another life."_

" _I do."_

 _She stepped back again and turned to leave. Over her shoulder, she had the last word. "You know where I am, Jack O'Neill. Come if you will."_

"I must kel'no'reem O'Neill. Will you be here to watch the fire and the supplies?"

Jack looked up, wondering why the man asked him that same question every night. Hadn't he made it clear enough that he wasn't going to sleep anywhere but here? "Yeah, T. I'll be here." He sighed as the big man disappeared silently into the night. Snagging the strap with is foot, Jack absently traced his fingers over the gold embroidery on the side pocket of the duffel. Never had the SGC logo looked so good to him.

He unzipped the bag and pulled the sides open, unable to suppress the smile at what was inside. His spare uniform and boots from his locker, no doubt. There was another set of BDU's, far too large for him, that he assumed were for Teal'c. Several clean t-shirts were added to the pile beside him, as well as eight carefully folded pairs of Homer Simpson boxers. Jack didn't recognize the boxers and he wondered whose they were. As he shook out the first pair a small note fell out and Jack, after reading it, bit back a grin. Mystery solved.

 _Sir._

 _These are all new, but have been washed._

 _My dad and Mark always hated wearing them_

 _fresh out of the wrapper, so . . . anyway._

 _The Star Wars ones in the bag are for Teal'c,_

 _as is the other uniform–but I'll bet you guessed_

 _that._

 _The sealed package is for you. You don't have to_

 _share, Teal'c has his own care-package too._

 _Welcome home (almost)_

 _S. Carter._

Jack divided the remaining items in the bag according to owner, carefully setting Teal'c's care package –identified by Carter's distinctive handwritten label–atop his pile before opening his own. As he broke the seal, he bit back a sharp grin. The sweet smell of sugar wafting out of the container was unmistakable, as was the heady scent of coffee that accompanied it.

S'mores.

She'd shot s'mores through the wormhole.

The fire burned low as Jack sat before it, the insulated box resting on his knees, his thoughts thousands of light years away.

S J S J S J S J S J S J S J S J

Earth

Colorado Springs, CO

Jack O'Neill's back yard

2147 SGCS (SGC Standard Time)

\+ 43 Days

Sam sat before the small fire in the Colonel's back yard. It was really too cold, but she couldn't resist. She wondered what he thought of the package she'd sent through this morning. Glancing down at the matching items in her lap, she couldn't help but smile. She carefully closed the lid on the Tupperware; it was too late and too cold to make s'mores. She's brought them just . . . just to feel closer.

She watched as the smoke drifted lazily up into the sparkling clear night sky. Hopefully he was somewhere up there enjoying the little piece of home she'd sent. Maybe even thinking of her.

S J S J S J S J S J S J S J S J

Edora

Laira's Village

Village outskirts

Late afternoon

\+ 68 Days

"Dammit."

"It appears to be ineffective, O'Neill."

"Yeah. I got that."

" _Colonel?"_

"Yeah. Can't get it to work, Carter. I must be missing something."

" _Copy that, Colonel. We'll try again with our 'Apollo 13' thing here. Recontact in 12. Car– er, SGC out."_

Damn. Jack could hear the frustration in his Second's voice and it mirrored his own. Sixty-eight days since he'd pulled Teal'c from that eggshell hold in the ground. They'd worked with the villagers to build a cantilevered lift and then built a new base for the gate. The damned thing was upright and . . . just standing there. They'd been unable to find the DHD, so Carter had sent her own mini-me version. Only it didn't work.

He stood and stretched, working out the kinks in his muscles as he watched Teal'c head back toward the campsite.

Another night under the wrong stars.

S J S J S J S J S J S J S J S J

Edora

Laira's Village

Village outskirts

Mid-day

\+ 87 Days

" _Dammit!"_

Jack blinked as Carter's frustrated transmission came back over the radio. "Uh, Carter. You know we can hear you, right?"

" _Yes, Sir. Sorry. You're going to have to find the DHD, Colonel. Or I'm going to have to come there. I can't do this long-distance troubleshooting effectively."_

Sucking in a breath, Jack paused.

Carter.

Here.

Still a one-way trip. Probably not forever, but . . . still . . . a one-way trip. A soft cough pulled him from his thoughts and Jack looked up to see Laira standing just beyond the gate. As much as he wanted to see Carter, he couldn't ask her to do that. What if she never got it working? It wouldn't be fair to her. And . . . there was Laira. He'd said goodbye to everyone at home, but more and more his conscience was nagging at him, reminding him that he had made some commitments here.

" _Colonel?"_

"Send us a naquadah metal detector, Carter. We'll find the damned DHD."

" _Copy that. Carter out."_

Jack told himself he was imagining the disappointment lacing his Second's voice as the wormhole snapped shut on another day.

S J S J S J S J S J S J S J S J

Edora

Laira's Village

Village outskirts

Two hours until dawn

\+ 100 Days

Jack fidgeted as Teal'c made the last adjustment to the DHD. In the end it hadn't been that difficult. The DHD had been wedged on the side of the groove cut by the meteor. They hadn't even needed Carter's metal detector. Two boys playing on the edge of the crater had seen the base protruding from under a ridge. It had just been a matter of pulling it out. Ten days later, the unit was set up in approximately the same place it had been before the meteor hit. Teal'c had inspected the device and found that just two crystals were cracked, including the master control crystal.

Carter sent them in a double-packed box of padding–along with another package of s'mores and a package of fruit for Teal'c. Jack had simply passed the sweet dessert on to the village children. He hadn't had the heart to eat them.

Laira.

He poked moodily at the fire, his last on the planet he hoped. Teal'c was planning to try firing up the DHD later this morning, as soon as it was light enough for him to check the crystal placement one last time.

He glanced down at his Edoran attire. In anticipation of his leaving, Jack had given away all of his "Earth" clothes. Garran hadn't taken off the oversized BDU jacket since Jack had given it to him, and the seamstress in the village was fascinated by the rip-stop fabric of the trousers. The boots, too, he'd given away. He'd worn through the pair he'd come to the planet wearing, and the pair Carter had sent three months ago were almost as bad.

No. He was going home, he could get new clothes there. These people could use what he left behind.

Behind.

Nothing was resolved with Laira. He'd tried, several times, to speak to her, but the woman wouldn't open up. He'd worried, too, about her request of him, that she give him a child. When he'd uncovered Teal'c from the still-buried gate site, he and Laira had been together just twice. Twice with no protection.

As they'd dug, a part of him had counted the days, wondering. Was an Edoran cycle like an Earth woman's? Would she tell him either way? As the weeks dragged into months, as the village focused its collective efforts on righting the gate and reconnecting with their loved ones, Jack waited.

He still didn't know. A part of him didn't want to know. He didn't love the woman, not as he should to bring a child into their world. If he knew, then he'd be forced to choose. This way . . ..

No. That's not how Jack O'Neill worked. Come morning, he'd ask her. Find out, one way or another.

"O'Neill."

Jack looked up, surprised to see the rising light of dawn chase down the light of the long-dead fire.

"It is time."

Once again Jack rose and began the work of stamping out his fire circle. Determined that this time it would work, that this time would be the last time, he took a long moment to completely obliterate the firepit, scattering the rocks and still-warm embers until little trace of it remained. He took a deep breath and looked over at Teal'c. It was time.

"Dial it up, T."

S J S J S J S J S J S J S J S J

Sam sucked in a deep steadying breath, then stepped quickly through the rippling pool of blue. It felt endless this trip, this time, though she knew it was just milliseconds. In a flash she was blinking in the bright, early-morning sunlight, her eyes quickly adjusting from the relative dimness of the SGC.

Glancing quickly around, her jaw dropped at the evidence of the devastation wrought by the meteor. She, and the gate, were standing in the center of a furrow that carved its way through the valley, extending as far as she could see.

"Oh my God," Daniel's breathless whisper echoed her own feelings.

"Yeah."

"Jack!"

Sam whipped her head around as first the Colonel, then Teal'c, stepped out from a stand of trees. She quickly squelched the sudden racing fireflies that tore through her stomach at the sight of him. He was leaner, and more tanned than when she'd last seen him, God, nearly eight months ago. She watched, fighting a wave of jealousy when O'Neill returned Daniel's enthusiastic hug, delivering a few manly blows on the younger man's back.

"It is good to see you again, Major Carter."

Sam stepped forward and, because she knew she wouldn't be able to do so with the Colonel, offered the surprised Jaffa a tight hug. "You too, Teal'c. We've missed you."

"And I, you," he intoned, a small smile playing across his lips.

Both turned to where O'Neill and Daniel were talking, and Teal'c, with a small glance her way, waved Daniel forward. "Come, Daniel Jackson. We must prepare the villagers for the return of their loved ones."

Sam watched as Teal'c led the archaeologist away and wondered if he'd intentionally left her alone with the Colonel. She glanced around the small campsite, and, noting the scattered remains of the firepit, gave a small smile.

"Colonel. Glad to see you're okay."

"Carter. Likewise." O'Neill fidgeted slightly, glancing back over his shoulder along the path along which Teal'c and Daniel had disappeared, and then back at her. He said nothing, his brown eyes just studying her, never leaving her face.

Shifting her weight, Sam stepped forward. She could see the black bag she'd sent through and wondered if he'd enjoyed what she'd sent, but wasn't sure she should ask. She fought the urge to reach for him, just to share even a friendly hug.

Because she wasn't sure she could keep it 'just friendly.' She was so happy to see him alive and well that she didn't trust her own controls just now. Once again the options she . . . they . . . might have raced through her head as she stood there awkwardly. Retire. Resign. Throw herself at him. Carry on a secret affair.

The silence stretched between them for an eternity, and just when she resolved to say something . . . anything . . . to break the silence, a babble of excited voices reached them. The villagers were coming.

Sam turned away and signaled the SGC that it was all right to send the refugees on through. As they did, she stepped closer to O'Neill and began to explain how she'd known the gate was still there, just buried.

She tried not to notice that he seemed to have one eye on her and the other on the Edorans running up the road to greet their returning family. As the woman who'd hosted them–Laira, Sam remembered–approached them, she broke off her explanation. He wasn't listening anyway.

She turned to Daniel, surprised at her Colonel unusual abruptness. "Is he all right?"

Daniel looked from Jack to Laira and back again. He wouldn't meet Sam's eyes as he answered. "He's fine. I just don't think he was expecting . . . to go home again."

Sam turned and watched as O'Neill, with eyes only for the woman before him, stepped away from the team. She tried not to listen as he not only told her he wasn't happy to be going home but he invited her to come back with them. Her ears rang as she stepped further away, out of range.

Never, in all of her musings, all of her considering of options, had it occurred to her that he might not even be interested.

End.

Afterword: This is the result of an innocent comment made by a reviewer. In answering her question, I had a stream-of-consciousness moment and . . . well, you see the result.

 _I'm assuming that you're writing another chapter for after this episode? Well, I can't WAIT for it. I hope you update soon -XOXO Casey_

 _Thank you. I was thinking, you know, that it must have taken Teal'c, Jack, and others at least another month to dig out the gate, then get it set up, then get a DHD replacement. Damn, now you've given me another idea for a new chapter. How about "Another Hundred Days."_

 _Sam and Siler could come up with a way for stuff to go through the gate, and...oh, man. Okay. Humph._

 _g Thanks for the review...and the prompt!_

 _P._


	20. Black and White

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you to all who read and review, and to those who simply read. Another thanks to Tammy for the same-day beta read.

  
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A/N: Thank you to all who read and review, and to those who simply read. Another thanks to Tammy for the same-day beta read.

Set during after _Shades of Grey_ on a planet of my own choosing. Ep synopsis: _On a mission to Tollana, O'Neill steals a weapon and takes it back to Earth. When Hammond discovers the deception, he suspends O'Neill. But O'Neill's misconduct is only the beginning of a mystery that could have catastrophic consequences._

 _  
**Black and White**   
_

P9J-074  
Two hours past sunset.

SG-1 Campsite

Teal'c tossed another log onto the fire and sparks swirled up into the sparkling night sky only to be scattered by the rising evening wind. The trees were outlined against the velvety blackness, their uneven points ringing the clearing in which the team was camped. After a long, silent day spent following a track that barely qualified as a "trail," Sam was glad to sit and be still. Their first mission out following the Colonel's undercover op to nail the NID, and this far it hadn't been a comfortable one.

She slid her feet back and tucked her knees up under her chin, rocking her body back to rest against her pack. She rested her head on her upturned knees and wrapped her arms around her legs as she watched the rest of her team settle down for the night. Dinner was long past and they'd spent a quiet few hours sitting around the campfire. Not their usual quiet time, this time was filled with a thick tension left over from the Colonel's recent . . . adventure.

Sam snorted softly to herself. _Adventure. Sure._ She focused on the fire as she reflected on the events of the past few weeks. The disastrous meeting with the Tollan, the Colonel seemingly going off the deep end. Her pain and confusion as he continually shut her, and later Daniel, down.

 _Sam took a deep breath as the Colonel passed her, trying to block out the scent of him as he brushed her shoulder._

" _Carter," he said, his voice cold. A foreign tone coming from him._

 _Closing her eyes for a second, Sam sucked in a fortifying breath and then turned to face him. "Sir?" Her insides froze as he turned. There was nothing there . . . nothing in his eyes. The one sure way she had to communicate with him, and . . . nothing._

 _O'Neill waited for a long moment, Teal'c standing silently by his side. Finally, he asked sharply, "What?"_

 _Now that she had his attention, Sam wasn't entirely certain what to do. She cocked her head, hoping to see some recognition in his tawny eyes. Something . . .. "Is there anything I can do?" Even as she said it she realized how inane the question was._

" _About?" He offered her nothing._

 _Sam swallowed. "Well, sir, with respect . . . you aren't exactly acting like . . . yourself."_

 _This time the coldness wasn't just in his gaze, it laced his voice as well, cutting her already fragile control with each word. "No, Carter. I haven't been acting like myself since I met_ you _. Now I'm_ acting _like myself._

Later . . . later that night, she'd sat in her living room and reviewed the conversation in her head. The more she replayed it, the more she was sure he had been trying to tell her something. She'd then played devil's advocate with herself, wondering if she was grasping at straws, just desperate to find a reason for his . . . betrayal.

He didn't owe her anything, really. All the expectation had built in her own head while he was on Edora. Fluffly little fantasies that swirled in most women's heads. To her surprise, she––Major, and Doctor, Samantha Carter—was not immune to the things that brought down other women.

How . . . humbling.

It would have been easy, so easy, to fall into that trap. But she hadn't. Hadn't let herself wallow that night, nor the night a few days later when word came that he would be going to Edora. The trap of heartache and . . . betrayal . . . following her realization that not only was he leaving the team, but he was leaving to go to . . . her. Sam couldn't even bring herself to _think_ the woman's name.

No, by that time Sam was completely convinced that something else was going on. She'd quietly shared her feelings with Teal'c, and together they decided to keep Daniel out of it, and to wait and see. And their waiting had paid off. As convinced as Sam had been that everything would be right again with her team, the feeling of the weight leaving her shoulders when he'd come through the gate and then arrested Makepeace had been tremendous. Uplifting.

"Carter?"

O'Neill's soft voice pulled Sam from her thoughts. She looked up to find him standing beside her, clearly asking to sit in his usual place by her side. She gave him a gentle smile and nodded once. When he settled beside her, she realized that he, as much as they did, needed to clear the air one last time.

"Sir?"

"Carter."

Sam glanced over to find Teal'c and Daniel watching her. One set of eyes giving her strength, the other expecting her to fix what was still broken. She sighed. _That's what you do, Sam, you fix things._ "Ah," she cleared her throat. "I just wanted you to know that, ah, know that we," she waved a hand toward Teal'c. "We sort of figured out that you were . . ."

"Under cover?"

"Yes."

"Indeed," Teal'c nodded.

"What? Um, no _we_ didn't." Daniel sat up straight and stared first at Teal'c then at Sam. "And, just when did . . . _we_ . . . figure it out?"

Sam sighed. "Daniel, I . . . it was when the Colonel and I were talking in the hallway. Something just felt . . . off."

"Off! Of course things were off! Jack had just–"

"Daniel Jackson, you are missing the point of the discussion."

Before Daniel could speak, the Colonel spoke up. "You knew . . . then? Jeez, Carter. I must be losing my touch."

She glanced at him and shook her head. "No, it wasn't just that. Hammond's appointment of your replacement had been too fast, too efficient. Too easy."

"Easy?"

"Yeah, well, I'd kind of wondered about that," Daniel added. "Look how long it took them to find someone to lead SG-3." Then the peered at her over the fire. "Wait, that's why you told me that it was okay? That Makepeace had SG-1 and not you?"

"Yes. No. I mean," she stammered, glancing at O'Neill. "It's not my place, Daniel, to question who is put in command over me."

"But–"

"Again, Daniel Jackson, you have deviated from the point." He turned toward O'Neill and offered a short bow. "You were not behaving with the honor of a warrior. No man can disguise his true nature for as long as I have called you friend. Therefore I believed, as did Major Carter, that some other plan was afoot. I was content to wait . . . for a period of time." With a nod to the rest of his team, Teal'c stood and strode off into the night, leaving the rest of his team staring silently after him.

Finally, Daniel spoke up. "You know, you wait and wait for him to say more than three words, and when he does he leaves the rest of us speechless." He turned toward Sam and the Colonel. "Look, I get that you figured it out, but . . . why not tell me?"

"Daniel," Sam began, but stopped when the Colonel stopped her with a touch. She fell silent and let herself enjoy the fact that he hadn't removed his hand.

"Daniel, I think they didn't tell you for the same reason _I_ didn't tell you. You are the _one_ member of this team who can react . . . honestly . . . to what goes on. Teal'c doesn't and Carter can't. The whole Air Force thing."

"That's stupid."

Both officers shrugged and the Colonel said, "That's how it is."

Daniel shook his head and stood up. "It still sucks, as did this whole 'undercover op' thing you had going on. Next time, Jack, I want a hint." He waved vaguely at them both and turned toward the tent he shared with Teal'c.

She could feel the Colonel shift beside her and Sam fervently hoped that there'd never _be_ a "next time."

Silence fell over the camp, a smoother silence, _lighter_ somehow than before. They'd talked. All of them. Not a lot, nothing profound, but they'd talked. Taken the first steps toward being the team she loved again. She thought again of how she'd felt when he'd first . . . when he'd turned to the Edoran woman and invited her to come home with him. And again later when she'd heard that he was going to "retire" there.

She'd had three months to realize that she had more than inappropriate feelings for her CO, and another three months to build those feelings into an ultimately fruitless fantasy. A fantasy that had disappeared the moment he'd turned away from her. And this time she'd had two weeks to live with the idea that rather than betraying her . . . betraying them . . . he'd been doing something more, something better that he couldn't share. And during that time she'd given herself several stern lectures, all amounting to the same thing, _get over it, woman, and find a way to work with the man._

And tonight Sam felt like she'd managed it. They, at least she and he, were almost back to normal. She'd eaten beside him, had his fingers brush over hers as he handed her a mug of tea, and she'd managed—mostly—to quell the butterflies inside of her.

Mostly.

She couldn't have him, she knew that. Even if he ever did want _her_ , so . . . Sam shrugged the thought away. _It is what it is and I'll enjoy what I can._

O'Neill shifted and poked indolently at the fire. Laying his stick aside, he wiggled in the dirt until he'd found just the perfect spot. That it coincided with bumping her hip and arm was something Sam decided she'd add to her list of things she would secretly enjoy. It was going to be a short list, after all.

"Sam?"

"Sir?"

"I, ah, I owe you an apology."

"Not really, Colonel." She angled her body to face him, somehow managing to maintain contact.

"No. I really do." The Colonel frowned into the fire and then turned his gaze toward her. "First, for Edora."

Sam sucked in a surprised breath, stunned at the sharp jab of pain that arrowed through her. _I'm over it, I'm over it, I'm over it_ , she repeated to herself. She forcibly gathered her composure and bravely met his gaze. "Sir?"

Beside her, he sighed. "Damn it, Carter. T told me how hard you worked. So did Doc Frasier. And Daniel. And Hammond. Hell, even Dave Dixon brought it up." He eyed her, clearly waiting for her to say something.

Sam sat frozen, caught like a rabbit in a snare. She was afraid that if she wiggled the least little bit, the snare would tighten around her, forcing her to say things she shouldn't. So she did what she did best and shrugged it off. "No thanks, or apologies, necessary, Sir. Just doing my job."

O'Neill snorted. "Carter, I'm pretty sure your job description does not include ninety days of no sleep."

"It was only twelve."

"S'cuse me?"

Shrugging against the encroaching chill of the night, Sam muttered. "Twelve. I pass– er, _fell asleep_ in my lab after twelve."

O'Neill sat up and bet low to capture her gaze. "Jesus, Sam."

His hand twitched and Sam wondered for a brief second if he'd reach out to touch her. Part of her wanted it and the other part was afraid. If he reached out, she'd cave. This time she couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze. She felt that if she did, he'd see it all. See everything, despite her best efforts. "It's what we do . . . Sir. Nobody gets left behind."

The Colonel sat still as a statue for a long moment, staring at her. She wondered what it was he saw. Hoped he didn't see what she was trying to control. To bury. After a long moment he nodded once and leaned back again, his eyes still on her. He toed a small rock into the glowing embers at the base of the fire and then began to fidget with the sleeve of her jacket where it lay empty across his knee.

"You should put this on."

"Not cold." She figured she would be turning in soon anyway and couldn't be bothered.

"How'd you figure it out?"

"That I'm not cold?" Sam looked at him, confused.

"No, Carter." O'Neill waved his hand toward the fire. "Before. The whole spy versus spy thing. How'd you know?"

"Oh, that." Sam dropped her knees down and folded her legs, Indian style. She placed her elbows on her knees and rested her chin on her fists. How to tell him without . . . _telling_ him? As the wind chased the orange and golden hues around the burning logs, she began, "Well, what I told Daniel was true. It really was when you and I were in the corridor that day. You know, when you said that–" she broke off and swallowed hard. Despite knowing that she'd been right, that he'd been acting, there was still a little twinge at the memory of his words. Worse, at the absolute absence of any link between them when he'd spoken.

"I didn't mean it, you know," he said softly.

"Yes you did. I mean," she said hastily, "that's it. That's how I knew. You . . . well, maybe it's silly, but I felt like you were trying to tell me something, Colonel. You . . . you sort of emphasized me, and then you . . . well, it sounded to me like you put more weight on the word 'acting.'" Sam shrugged, feeling silly as she said out loud what she'd only before reasoned in her head. "I don't know, Sir. I guess I just wouldn't believe that you'd deliberately hurt m– ah, I mean, you're _you._ And you don't do that sort of thing." She risked a glance at him out of the corner of her eye.

O'Neill sat hunched, his hands in his lap, fiddling with the fraying sleeve of her jacket. "I don't think I consciously–"

Sam shrugged. "Maybe not. I probably imagined it." She paused and thought for a moment. It was late, she was fragile, as was the tenuous thread they were once again weaving between them. A gossamer thread that would disappear in the light of day and under the ever-present specter of the Air Force. But . . . maybe he needed to hear it. Just a little bit, even if . . .. "Sir?"

O'Neill just looked over at her, one eyebrow raised.

"I know there are nuances, degrees, shades of grey to everything that we do. But some things . . . some things have no shades." She took a deep breath and met his gaze squarely. If she was going to do this she was going to do it honestly. Carters don't back down. "The thing is . . . I am certain of very few things in life, Colonel, but one thing I am one-hundred percent certain of is . . . you." She flicked her gaze away for a second, then added lamely, "Sir." When he stayed silent, she continued, her bravery faltering just a bit. "There are _no_ shades of grey for me, Sir, when it comes to you. It's black and white. There are good guys and bad guys in life, Sir, and . . . well, like it or not, you're one of the good ones."

Despite her determination to make her voice firm, to deliver her message as a good, steady Second, Sam felt some of the _other_ leaking in. Some of that soul-deep belief she had—and would always have—in him. And something more. She watched his face for some reaction, watched as he opened and closed his mouth, then looked away, blinking into the fire.

When he spoke, his voice was rough, and low. "Carter . . . I don't . . .. You don't know–"

"No." Sam shook her head, braver now that she was shadowed in darkness. Now that she had said some of what was in her heart. "No, Colonel. I _do_ know. And _you_ should know, that none of it, the past, the . . . rest . . .. All of that makes you who you are, Sir. And, deep inside, you are . . . _you_. The man that we'd follow anywhere. Daniel, Teal'c, and . . . and me."

The fire burned low and neither moved to build it up again. Sam was content to sit in the shadows, wrestling her rapidly beating heart down to a normal rate again. Her fists were clenched beneath her chin, only to stop the trembling she could feel quaking through her frame. She'd said more to him than she'd meant to say, but maybe they'd both needed it.

End.

Afterword: Someone asked me recently to explain the delay in updates between chapters/stories in this series. My original plan was to try to put out a story a week, but then I started my doctoral program. After that things became spotty. I'm aiming for once a month, though I have at times posted two in a month or none at all. I am fully committed to this series and will see it through to at least the end of Season 8, which is when I believe Jack and Sam were finally, legally, able to be together.

It usually only takes me about two hours to write these; however, I have to fit in time for an ep rewatch so that I can refresh my memory and take notes, and then time to absorb it. Sometimes the storypoint hits me right away. Other times it sneaks up on me, as this one did last night at 11:30 while driving home from class.

So, I hope that answers the question and I do thank those that have been hanging on and sticking with me.


	21. The Ties That Bind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you to all who read and review, and to those who simply read. Sorry for the long delay. Real life, vacation, and other obligations seem to conspire against my fanfic writing.

  
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A/N: Thank you to all who read and review, and to those who simply read. Sorry for the long delay. Real life, vacation, and other obligations seem to conspire against my fanfic writing.

Set after _New Ground_ on Earth. Ep synopsis: _Three quarters of SG-1 are captured upon arrival to a planet in the midst of a religious war. While Carter, Daniel, and O'Neill are tortured for information as they try to convince their Bedrosian captors they're not enemy spies, an injured Teal'c gets help from a Bedrosian scientist who may have his own agenda. After they escape, they bring the Bedrosian scientist, now a refugee, back with them to Earth._

 _  
**The Ties That Bind**   
_

Jack O'Neill nudged closed the sliding glass patio door, careful not to spill the drinks on the tray. He stepped down the four porch steps into the springy grass, using the light of the blazing campfire to light his way. Tonight's team night had been . . . interesting, and he meant that in the Chinese sense. What had begun as a team bonding-slash-check-in had developed into a "teach the alien newbie Earth customs" family-style bar-be-que.

Again.

Jack shook his head. How his team ended up being the one to find the galaxy's strays was beyond him. His was a front-line team, one meant to be bringing the fight to the enemy, not bringing home the wanderers of the universe. As he neared the blazing, popping fire, Jack studied the group spread around it. In true Daniel Jackson fashion, he'd not only included the newest universal transplant to Earth, the Bedrosian archaeologist Nyan, Daniel had also included Janet and Cassie, reasoning that Teal'c had helped Cassie transition to life on Earth; therefore Cassie could help Nyan.

Even Carter had looked confused by that logic, but by the time Jack had puzzled it out, it was too late. Soon his back yard was full of people.

Okay, not "full," full, but . . . full _er_ than it was normally. Besides, Teal'c and Cassie were the equivalent of four people, Jack figured. So yeah. His back yard was full.

All he'd wanted was a quiet night with his team. What he go instead was–"

"It's almost like a regular, ordinary family bar-be-que."

Carter's voice, so closely echoing his thoughts, startled him. Jack turned, still careful not to spill his laden tray, to find his Second close on his heels.

"Carter. What have we discussed about sneaking?"

Guileless blue eyes blinked up at him. "Sneaking, good . . . touching strange objects, bad." She reached out and relieved him of some of the steaming mugs. "Sorry, Sir. Didn't mean to startle you."

As the two made their way down the rest of the lawn, Jack shook his head. "Nah. I was just thinking. What'd you mean?"

Carter shrugged one shoulder. "I don't know. When I came out onto the porch Cassie was leaning on Teal'c's knee showing Nyan how to roast a marshmallow, Daniel's over helping Janet with the firewood. You know . . . sometimes it catches me off guard." She shrugged again and looked away as if embarrassed.

Jack nodded. "Kind of like, if you squint, we look like a Rockwell painting?"

This time Carter chuckled. "You really have to squint hard to make that leap, Sir. But . . . yeah. Kind of."

She smiled up at him as they reached the fire. The kind of open, unguarded smile that never failed to spin his stomach in wild circles. The kind that set off loud, screaming alarm bells in his head.

The kind that he ached to see every day of his life.

Jack turned away to hand Daniel his coffee, then carried the tray around to Teal'c and Nyan. He nudged Cassie with his knee as he passed, making the girl giggle as he did so. That sound, whether coming from her or coming from his Second, was home to him. And, with Cassie as much as with Carter, he loved doing little things to provoke it.

Coffee handed out, Jack returned to "his" spot, oh-so-conveniently situated next to one Samantha Carter's regular spot, but that didn't bear thinking about. He watched as Carter shared out the remaining mugs to Cassie and Nyan, saving one for herself. When she settled beside him, Jack waited until she'd had a chance to sip her drink before asking, "You doing okay, Carter?"

"Fine, Sir." She gave her habitual response clearly without thinking about it. "Why?"

"Oh, I don't know. 'Cause you were put in a cage and tortured?" Jack shrugged a shoulder against hers. "Those things can be hard on a body, I'm told."

Carter glanced at the others around the fire, occupied in their own conversations, and then turned toward him. "You should talk . . . Sir. I, at least, passed out. Daniel told me you fell against the charged bars of the cage. I should be asking _you_ that question."

"I'm good." Jack shrugged again and looked away, into the roaring fire. Teal'c really had outdone himself, he was hard-pressed to hear the other conversations on the other side of the blazing circle. He felt as if he and Carter were alone. "It's not like it was my first rodeo."

Carter's voice was soft beside him. "I know. I'm sorry."

"'S not your fault." He felt her gaze on him and turned again to meet her eyes.

"I know. But I can still be sorry. For then and for now."

Jack held her gaze for a long, lingering moment, allowing himself the rare opportunity to just look at her and enjoy. He'd hated it, sitting in that cage and knowing that the military commander was going to turn that _thing_ on her.

Hated it.

He'd wanted to shout and scream to attract the man's attention away from her but knew that was the worst thing he could do. On several levels. First it would give their torturer ammunition. Single her out for even greater pain to use against him.

Them.

Second, it would undermine Carter's role on the team. Make her appear as someone in need of protecting. Not to Jack, but to Carter herself. He knew that about her. Knew that was how she'd interpret it. She wouldn't see it for what it was. His driving need to protect her, at almost all costs.

Yes, it was a dangerous game Jack O'Neill played. Every hour of every day. And so much hung in the balance. Lost in thought, Jack blew out a long, deep sigh.

"Colonel?" Carter's hand came to rest on his arm. "Sir? Is . . . _are_ you okay?" She nodded her head to the rest of the group. "If you're tired, Colonel, I can chase–"

Jack shook his head. "No. I'm good. Just . . . thinking." He felt her hand fall away and tried not to miss the warmth.

"Anything you can share?"

"Nothing deep." Jack quirked a small smile her way and waited until she answered in kind. This. These moments. These were why he'd been avoiding "team nights" at his place. Because of this very thing. This tiny moment by the fire, this woman by his side, and the semblance of family around him.

Dangerous, dangerous territory.

Some might say enemy territory.

 _Here there be dragons._

Unbidden, an image came to Jack from one of Charlie's old books. A story of pirates and adventure, and penciled in wriggly handwriting at the edge of the pirate's map was the warning to erstwhile travelers that the waters ahead were indeed scary. Another reason to avoid the Navy.

Carter's gentle, "Sir?" brought Jack back to the present. She again laid warm hand on his bare forearm and this time tightened her fingers slightly, seeking a response.

Jack dropped his hand and felt hers slide away. He caught her fingers for a moment, giving them a brief squeeze, then letting go. Despite wanting to hold on. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he turned his face toward the others across the blazing firepit.

Carter followed his gaze and gave a little sigh of her own. Her words were soft, meant only for him. "You know, Colonel. We might not _look_ much like a Norman Rockwell painting, but . . . I was wrong. You really don't have to squint all that hard to see a family." She shifted slightly on her cushion, bringing her knee into contact with his. Leaving it there. Grounding them both.

Dragons be damned.

There was no way he was giving up these moments. Not the solitary times with Carter, nor the noisier times with the rest of the team, with or without the added quasi-members. It was for these moments that he fought. That they fought. And he wouldn't let them go.

End.

Afterword: I have to note this. I wrote this sitting by a campfire in British Columbia beside a roaring campfire. Gotta love the power of the Internet. I'm literally uploading this from the middle of freakin' nowhere.


	22. Rainy Days and Sundays

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you to all who read and review, and to those who simply read. Remember, I can't respond if I don't have your email information, and I _always_ respond to my reviewers. To see how to properly leave your email information, check my main ff dot net page.

  
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A/N: Thank you to all who read and review, and to those who simply read. Remember, I can't respond if I don't have your email information, and I _always_ respond to my reviewers. To see how to properly leave your email information, check my main ff dot net page.

As with the prior story, this is set before _Maternal Instinct_ on Earth. Ep synopsis not really required because this really doesn't relate. Consider this a bonus round based upon recent real-life experience.

 _  
**Rainy Days and Sundays . . .**   
_

"More coffee, Samantha?"

Sam shook her head no and watched as the kindly woman made her way around the fire. Try as she might, she'd been unable to convince Mrs. McGee, Cassie's group leader, that she really didn't enjoy coffee as much as she did tea. Good thing she'd brought her own supply

"Good thing you brought your own, eh?"

The Colonel's voice, so near her ear, startled Sam and she jumped slightly. Then she jumped again as a warm hand came down onto her shoulder to settle her.

"Easy, Carter, it's just me."

"Yes. Sorry, you just . . ."

"I know. Sorry. No sneaking."

Sam smiled up at him, pleased to see the lines of tension that normally lined his features were smoothed away. Almost as much as when he slept, but she refused to acknowledge just how she knew that. She glanced around the camp site and then looked again at her CO, this time raising an eyebrow.

O'Neill responded by tipping his head toward the large, tarp-covered "kitchen" area at the far end of the shaded grove. "She's down there. Drew dish duty."

Sam grinned at that and allowed herself to relax deeper into her chair. This was . . . a treat, she decided. To camp and relax and not have to worry about ambush, Jaffa, Goa'uld, or pissy natives. When Janet approached her last week about subbing in for her on Cassie's Outward Bound program, Sam had jumped at the chance. She loved camping out and, despite doing an overabundance of it that was mission-related, found that she missed it. Too much work and too little time. She'd dug out her civilian camping gear, supplemented it with some necessary items from her mission gear, and met Cassie at Janet's three nights back. However, the girl who'd met her at the door had been a far cry from the excited teen on the phone just hours earlier.

~ o0o~

" _We can't go." Cass' voice trembled slightly as she stared up at Sam, her brown eyes swimming with unshed tears._

 _Sam looked from Cassie to Janet in confusion. "What happened?"  
_

 _Janet waved her inside and took her jacket. "One of the boys has appendicitis and he has to miss. Which means his Dad misses as well. We're one "Dad" short now. Not enough male chaperones._

 _Sam looked from one Fraiser to the other. "That's it? That's why we can't go?" She shook her head. "I thought it was something serious." She gave them both a reassuring grin and pulled out her cell phone. After two rings she got Daniel's voicemail, but before she could say anything, Janet tugged on her arm, shaking her head. Sam left a short message and looked to her friend._

" _I tried him, Sam. He's using the down time to visit some friends."_

" _Oh." Sam looked at Cassie's dejected face and weighed her options. A tiny sniff from the girl decided it for her. She flipped open her phone again and this time hit "1" on the speed dial. O'Neill answered halfway through the first ring, before she could even think about what she'd done._

"' _Lo?" O'Neill's voice was rough. "Carter, that you?"_

" _Uh, yes. I . . . yes, Sir. Look, I'm sorry to bother you, Colonel, but . . . well, we have a problem. No, not_ that _kind," she said hastily when O'Neill swore. "It's . . . well, I really hate to ask you this, Sir, but . . . it's Cass."_

" _Cassie? She's okay, right? Wait, wasn't this weekend the big Camp-o-rama, or whatever?"_

 _Sam turned away from an anxious Cassie to hide her grin at his words. "Um, 'Outward Bound,' Colonel, and yes. That's why I'm calling."_

" _She wasn't hurt, was she?" This time O'Neill's voice was sharp, his tone serious._

" _No, Sir. It's just, well, one of the Dad's had to cancel and without him we're one guy, one_ adult _guy short. And that means . . ."_

" _No trip."_

 _There was a long pause and Sam could imagine her CO scratching his head, considering his options. She half-turned back to Cass and gave the teen an encouraging smile, ignoring Janet's raised eyebrows._

" _So, what, Carter, you need another grownup?"_

 _The amusement in O'Neill's voice was clear and Sam smiled in unconscious response. "Yep, that'd be it, Colonel. Can you?" She knew he'd say yes. He'd do just about anything for Cass and though she didn't play that card often, Sam knew that disappointing the team's honorary daughter was not something of which O'Neill was capable._

" _Carter . . . really? Camping? Trees? Bugs? Mosquitoes?"_

 _That last was said with a verbal shudder, but Sam could hear him moving around as he spoke. He was already packing, she was sure of it. Just to make sure, however, she turned away from the Fraiser women and said softly, "Colonel, I know, but . . . Cass was really counting on this trip."_

 _O'Neill sighed into her ear. "Yeah, I know. My bag's ready, Carter, just gotta grab my gear. I'll meet you at Casa Fraiser in thirty."_

 _He hung up before she could respond and she turned to the two standing behind her, one with an eyebrow still raised uncomfortably high, and the other with a look of eager expectation dancing in her eyes. Sam reached forward and pulled Cassandra into a hug. "Go call . . . whomever . . . and tell 'em we're back on." Cass grinned and ran down the hall, her cell phone already jammed to her hear. Sam turned to Janet, and offered weakly, " The Colonel's done things with this group already, so there's not even a problem with fingerprinting, or whatever safety measures they do."_

" _Uh, huh." Janet tucked her arm into Sam's and led her toward her own bedroom. "C'mon, I still have to pack for my conference." She gave Sam an exaggeratedly bright smile. "And we can discuss just who is at number one on our cell phones."_

" _Oh, shut up."_

~ o0o~

"This is nice."

"Carter, we do this sort of thing all the time."

Sam shook her head. "No. Not like this." She looked around again at the clusters of campers settling down around the various firepits in the clearing. There was no reason to sort out a watch schedule, no sleeping with her boots either on or nearby, no . . . evilness. Just a group of teenagers. She said as much to O'Neill, who shook his head.

"Carter, if you think riding herd on a group of teens with raging hormones is gonna be a picnic, think again."

"Least they can't shoot at us." She smiled at him, suddenly glad that Daniel had been unavailable. Really glad she'd followed her instinct and called him.

O'Neill tipped his coffee mug at her in mock salute. "There is that." He took a long swallow and then quirked a small smile her way. "Though, the way that Taylor kid was eyeing me earlier . . ."

Sam chuckled softly. "I'm pretty sure you can take him, Colonel."

They settled back into their chairs, another luxury they were never allowed offworld. Mrs. McGee was busily herding the kids not currently on kitchen duty over to the larger firepit, ready, no doubt, to lead them all in song. Sam suppressed a tiny shudder.

"Cold?"

"No. Just . . . well, the campfire singing. Not so much my thing."

"Ah." O'Neill shifted lower into his seat and tilted his head toward the sky. "Won't have to hear much of it, I think. Not with those clouds."

Sam followed his gaze up and saw, silhouetted against the last light of day, the towering clouds she'd watched grow on the horizon earlier. "Makes me glad we rigged that tarp system."

O'Neill glanced over to the tents clustered under an unusual arrangement of tarps, all positioned to allow the rain to cascade harmlessly away from the tents. There hadn't been enough trees in the tent site to cover all of the groups tents under one tarp, so Sam had set up two "safe" areas. The main covered area protected the kids' tents and most of the adults. The second, smaller area, covered her tent, O'Neill's, and Mrs. McGee's. They'd drawn straws and two sets of parents had pulled short, relegating them to the "kid's" area. O'Neill nodded approvingly at Carter's setup. "Nice job."

"Thanks." Even as she spoke the first drops of rain scattered the group around the fire and effectively ended the singing. Sam poured the last of the hot water into her and O'Neill's cups, then set the pot aside. She grabbed her camp chair and dragged it under the covered area in front of her tent, smiling as O'Neill did the same. As she settled into her seat once again, a large blue woolen sweater fell into her lap. Sam looked up to see O'Neill pulling a similar one over his head. "Sir?"

"Put it on, Carter. I brought a spare."

Sam nodded and carefully set aside her tea. She appreciated the gesture, unnecessary though it was. She had a perfectly good fleece just inside her tent. All she had to do was reach back and . . . Sam lifted the sweater and caught a whiff, then stilled. The sweater, woolly and warm, smelled delicious. Of lanolin with a faint hint of campfire smoke and an even lighter scent of . . . him. She bit her lip. She really _should_ just pull out her own fleece and . . . damn, the wind shifted again and the tantalizing scent of the sweater wafted past her again.

The hell with it.

Sam leaned forward and pulled the over-large sweater over her head, wiggling to settle it behind her and over her hips. Before she could lean back, a warm hand stilled her movement.

"Just a sec, you're caught . . . there."

Sam felt a slight tug and the barest brushes of his hand against her back, smoothing out a wrinkle. "Thanks," she said again, easing back into the chair and surreptitiously breathing in the sweater's almost mouth-watering aroma.

"Damn, it's coming down now," O'Neill commented. He moved his chair closer as the rain hammered down from the sky.

"Yeah. Hope Cass got into her tent okay." Sam shivered against a brief gust of wind that carried some of the rain to their spot. She, along O'Neill, moved her chair back, deeper under cover. Now they were tucked between the two tents, sheltered on either side from the blow.

"Pretty sure she did. Saw her and that girl, what's her name? Bev? Beth? Whatever. Saw them both duck inside just before the sky opened up."

Sam merely nodded. She was mesmerized by the rain. It was sheeting down now, coming in wave after wave. She glanced back at her setup, pleased to see the layered covers doing their job and sluicing the water out and away from their tents. Sipping her tea, she crossed her legs at the ankles and settled in. She was warm, dry, safe, and best of all, whether she wanted to admit it or now, she was with two of the people she loved best in the world. And nobody was trying to kill her.

At least not right now.

From where they sat she could see the campfires around the site slowly begin to sputter and die under the deluge, hers and O'Neill's being the last to go. Good thing she'd stored the firewood under the tarps too, she thought absently as she listened to the rain pound down. A flash of lightning and a loud crack of thunder made her jump and Sam bit back a grin as she heard the nearby kids squeal at the noise. Too-cool-for-school teenagers or not, a storm this big and this loud caused a reaction.

"That was close," O'Neill muttered.

"Yeah." Sam knew she sounded excited and didn't bother to hide it.

O'Neill turned to her. "Still enjoying yourself?"

Her eyes twinkling, Sam nodded. "Yeah. It's great, isn't it? All that raw power." Another flash, followed closely by an even louder clap of thunder nearly drowned out her words. "This is _fantastic_!"

"Carter," O'Neill stared at her. "You're . . . weird."

"Yeah," Sam said, yet again. She flashed him a bright grin, knowing that despite what he was saying, the Colonel was enjoying the storm as much as she. "Sometimes that's okay, though, you know?"

O'Neill nodded. "I do."

Sam jumped again as another lightning and thunder exchange took place, this time her motion brought her chair elbow-to-elbow with O'Neill's. "Okay, _that_ was close," she said.

"Yup." O'Neill nudged her with his elbow. "We're good though, right?"

"Should be. I made sure to keep our stuff tied to smaller trees, we're not isolated. We're good."

"Beautiful."

O'Neill's voice was soft and Sam glanced over at him, startled to find him so close to her. The air was electric around them, charged with the power of the storm and the electricity of the lightning still hanging in the air. The world around them was awash in grey, undulating waves of it that blurred everything to a Monet-esque scene, while he was here, beside her, in stunning high definition.

Flashes of lightning took the place of a dancing fire, illuminating O'Neill's features in a strobe-like effect. Each flash highlighted something different for her.

Flash. Silver-dashed hair.

Flash. A broken eyebrow.

Flash. Eyes that sparkled even in this intermittent light.

Flash. Lips.

Flash. A quirked end of those lips.

An especially bright flash and thunderous clap just beyond their space forced a yelp out of Sam and despite her joy in the power of the storm, she jumped high and close, her hand reaching and meeting his for stability.

Comfort.

Sheepishly glancing up at him, she tried to tug her hand free. "Sorry, reflex."

"Not sure who grabbed on first."

"Me neither."

O'Neill's large hand squeezed hers, then released it, his fingers sliding across hers. "I, ah, don't mind if you wanna . . ."

"I'm good. Thanks."

Sam and O'Neill laughed quietly as they overlapped each other. She clasped her hands together tightly in her lap, wishing she could have just continued to hold on. Beside her, O'Neill shifted his chair again and this move brought his elbow into contact with hers.

Sam didn't pull away.

It wasn't as good as her hand in his, but it was still . . . great.

The storm raged around them as they sat, tucked snugly between the two tents, covered by the layers of tarps, touching from shoulder to elbow as each leaned on the other for warmth and comfort. Rain sheeted down, slanting this way and that, unable to touch them as nature unleashed its fury. O'Neill nudged Sam's elbow after a particularly strong gust and turned to her. "You were right." Responding to her puzzled look, shrugged and settled deeper into his chair, though his elbow never lost contact with hers.

"This _is_ nice."

~ o0o~

End.

~ o0o~

Afterword: Well. This took a turn I did not expect. I started writing this at our campsite in Lake Louise, BC 10 days ago and then promptly broke my finger. We got home yesterday and just today I got the okay to take the splint off for a few hours every day and decided to finish this. What began as a moody, reflective piece has become . . . this.

:::shrug:::

C'est la vie.

For a picture of a site similar to what Sam set up here, pop on over to see these two pics (you'll have to sub in the proper coding).

Picture one (covered campsite): http **-colon-slash-slash-** i328 **-dot-** photobucket **-dot-** com/albums/l355/polrobin/misc_images/IMG_0085 **-dot-** jpg

Picture two (close-up of rigging): http **-colon-slash-slash** **-** i328 **-dot-** photobucket **-dot-** com/albums/l355/polrobin/misc_images/IMG_0031 **-dot-** jpg


	23. Proxemics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Again, another month has passed between _Campfires_. Sorry, folks. I'm juggling too much this year. As always, I never take a reader for granted and when you take the time to write a review, I _always_ thank you if you provide an email (if you're registered on ffdotnet you don't have to do so, I can just click the link to reply. Extra gooey chocolate chip cookies to Leiasky for the fast beta and insightful comments that made this better than it was. It's still not where I thought it could be, but it is better because of her beta work. Any errors within are mine.

  
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A/N: Again, another month has passed between _Campfires_. Sorry, folks. I'm juggling too much this year. As always, I never take a reader for granted and when you take the time to write a review, I _always_ thank you if you provide an email (if you're registered on ffdotnet you don't have to do so, I can just click the link to reply. Extra gooey chocolate chip cookies to Leiasky for the fast beta and insightful comments that made this better than it was. It's still not where I thought it could be, but it is better because of her beta work. Any errors within are mine.

Set during and after _Crystal Skull_ , on Earth and a planet that I've made up _._ Ep synopsis: _The team finds a glowing crystal skull identical to one first discovered by Daniel's grandfather decades before. When he stares into the skull's eyes, a mysterious force makes him disappear. Now SG-1 must find Daniel's grandfather to unlock the mystery of the skull and bring Daniel back._

~ o0o~

 _  
**Proxemics**   
_

~ o0o~

General Hammond stood and dismissed them, then strode off to his office. As soon as he was gone, Sam backed her chair away from the table in unison with O'Neill, her forearm brushing his as they both moved. As she followed Teal'c and Daniel out of the room, she heard one of the Sergeants on duty mutter, "Do you think they could be any closer?"

Another voice responded acerbically, "It was hard to tell who was almost in whose lap during that meeting."

Sam glanced around, wondering to whom they could be referring. There hadn't been anyone but SG-1 and General Hammond in their meeting, unless you counted the ever-present staff in the nearby Control Room. Distracted, Sam blew out a hard breath as she suddenly she slammed hard into O'Neill's solidly muscled back.

"Ow! Carter!"

"Sorry, Sir. I was–"

"Not your fault." The Colonel leaned around Teal'c to poke at Daniel, who had come to a sudden and unexpected halt on the stairs. "Daniel! Warn a guy, would ya?"

"Sorry, Jack," Daniel muttered as he continued down the stairs. "I was just thinking about something."

"Of course you were," muttered O'Neill. "The day you and Carter stop 'thinking about something' is the day I pack up for . . . P-something or other."

The Colonel and Daniel bickered as the team continued moved down the steps and into the corridor, but Sam's focus was on something else. She'd run into O'Neill because she'd been right on his heels. _But_ , she reasoned to herself, _she was no further from him than she . . . oh_. Blushing now, Sam glanced back into the control room to see the duty Sergeants glance significantly at one another. Sam sighed and deliberately slowed her steps to increase the space between her and the Colonel, resenting the need for the action. Before they'd taken another ten steps, however, O'Neill stopped and turned to face her.

"Carter? You okay?"

Surprised at the question, Sam nodded. "Ah, yes, Sir. I am. Why?"

O'Neill shrugged and waited for her to catch up. To slide back into her "normal" position next to him. Close. "No reason, I just . . . well, you were there and then you . . . weren't. Just checking."

Sam bit back a smile as they continued toward their locker room. She spared one last glance up at the women in the room behind her and gave a mental shrug. She had enough to worry about in her life without stressing about how close she was sitting to her team. Besides, _she_ had been seated first, it was the Colonel who'd sat in _her_ space.

Not that she'd minded, of course. But that was another story.

 _Bite me, as Mark used to say. I_ like _it here. I_ belong _here._

Matching her Colonel stride for stride, Sam and her team left to gear up for their upcoming mission.

~ o0o~

The last golden rays of the setting sun painted the sky in unbelievable colors and highlighted the edges of the small colony of tents set up along the edge of a very large, and now very dark, lake. Clusters of tents surrounded fires of differing sizes, giving the impression of silver blisters rising around a hot center of . . . what, Sam wasn't sure. She nodded and returned salutes as she passed through the large site, realizing as she did so that the SG teams had grown so much that she now didn't recognize half of the personnel that were camped with them.

"Damned milk runs." O'Neill's muttered grumbling was clear to her as she reached SG-1's area.

"C'mon, Jack. This makes a nice break."

"Indeed. Though I fail to see what 'milk' has to do with our present mission." Teal'c's rumbling voice completed the set and Sam arrived in time to see the Colonel's face change as he considered Teal'c's words.

She looked to Daniel and the archaeologist, knowing his role well, began to explain to Teal'c what the Colonel had meant. Sam tuned them out as she dropped her small pack inside of the tent she shared with O'Neill. Standing, she reached back and stretched her shoulders and neck, satisfied when she heard her upper back pop loudly. _That's better._

"Got the rotations all set for tomorrow?"

"Yes, Sir." Sam slipped her laptop from its case and joined her team by the fire. "SG's 12 and 13 will take the newest bunch on the southern loop first thing, and we're to provide a . . . distraction." She watched as O'Neill's face lit up at the news. As much as they all disliked being part of the training runs with the new members of the Stargate teams, this time Sam was grateful for the break. Their run-in with Nicholas Ballard's "giant aliens" and accompanying radiation had taken a lot out of all of them, but especially her. Fraiser had kept her an additional two days on the base after they'd returned–without Nick–insisting that she be monitored. She's been bored out of her, well, skull after three hours.

Being kept on base was bad enough, but then Fraiser had insisted the entire team get light duty for their next run and Hammond had agreed. So, here they were. On a . . . well, 'milk run,' as the Colonel so succinctly put it earlier.

"Reynolds say what he wanted?"

Intent on powering up her laptop, Sam just shook her head. "Nope. He seemed good with whatever you can cook up." She looked up at him, realizing just what she'd said. "I mean, Sir. You know. Within reason." She gave him a narrow look.

O'Neill responded with a falsely innocent "Who me?" look worthy of an Oscar, then turned to fish in his bag for something.

Daniel yawned and then stood and stretched. "I'm going to head over to see how Robert Rothman's settling in."

Teal'c stood too. "I will accompany you, Daniel Jackson. I wish to speak to the Officer of the Watch for this evening. I have some ideas that will keep our newest recruits . . . alert on their evening watch."

Sam was barely aware of their leaving. She flipped through her files, searching for the file Siler had slipped her on a jump drive just before she'd packed up for this trip. He'd promised that it would make her smile and had apologized for not getting it to her in time for her to see it while confined in Janet's clutches. She hit play and settle back, stretching her legs out toward the fire Teal'c had lit for them earlier. The video quality wasn't the best, but the image was clear enough. This was from one of the infirmary's security cameras, mounted just above Janet's office door, and it offered a view of most of one end of the medical bays. Sam could see a curtained-off area to her right, the area where she was lying. She was glad, however, that she couldn't see herself.

Teal'c stood facing the Colonel's bed, his hands clasped behind his back. O'Neill was half on his side, his body facing her curtained bed, but his head turned over his shoulder to face Teal'c. The two appeared to be arguing. Sam wondered why Siler would think she'd find that . . . oh. Sam bit back a chuckle as she watched her Colonel roll upright, then try to stand, only to collapse in a heap at Teal'c's feet. The look on her Jaffa teammate's face was priceless and again Sam had to fight back a giggle. If ever there was an "I told you so" look on someone's face, she was seeing it now on Teal'c's normally impassive features. The giggle she'd been suppressing burst out of her when Teal'c reached down and, with no effort at all, lifted O'Neill up and unceremoniously dropped him face-first back on his bed.

Sam snorted with laughter, unable to help herself.

"Laughing at my pain, are we?"

O'Neill voice was close and Sam turned to find him almost nose-to-nose with her. His eyes were warm with laughter, lit be the fire before them and by that unique spark that was so much his very own. Sam's own laughter died away at his closeness. One part of her, the consummate officer, screamed at her to back up, to put some space between them. The other part of her, the woman, the part that was increasingly making its presence felt, demanded that she stay. That she let herself enjoy his closeness. His willingness to let her into his personal space.

The officer won. Again.

Sam leaned back slightly, unaware of how much her eyes gave her away. She met his gaze, hoping he couldn't see how affected she was by his nearness. O'Neill's eyes warmed even more, and he gave her the barest ghost of a wink as he, too, back off slightly.

"Well, Carter?"

"Well . . . what?" Sam swallowed hard. "Sir."

"See something amusing?" A thin eyebrow raised in mock challenge.

This time the woman won. A warm smile slipped across her features before she could control it, and Sam found herself nodding. "Yes, as a matter of fact I do."

"Do tell."

Sam flashed him another smile and then turned the laptop so they could both see it. Thinking fast and not wanting to throw Siler under the bus, she said, "I, ah, got a copy of the security tape. You know, when Daniel says he was in the room? I was curious if we could see some . . . I don't know . . . sign of him."

"And you happened to get the part when I, ah–"

"Fell, Sir. Yes." Sam offered her most innocent shrug. "That's a time Daniel could pinpoint for me."

"Ah."

They watched the video play again and Sam couldn't help the giggle that escaped as once again Teal'c dropped her CO back onto his bed.

"Major . . . giggling?"

"I'm on it, Sir." Sam bit back her smile. O'Neill's voice was light and she could tell that he thought the video was just as funny as did she. When the clip had played all the way through she glanced over at him. "I guess I was wrong. Nothing to find there."

O'Neill shrugged, his shoulder brushing hers in the process. "I dunno. Teal'c always makes _me_ laugh."

"Right." Sam flipped through some more files on her computer before deciding she was too tired to concentrate. Beside her, O'Neill had set out two mugs and was pouring hot water into them. Sam reached into her own kit and pulled out an instant coffee packet for him and a teabag for her. Without a word to one another, they worked in concert, each adding the necessary items to the warm drinks until they had them just right.

"So," O'Neill asked, "No lasting effects from our . . . mutants and nintendos?"

"Muons and neutrino's," she corrected him automatically "And no, Sir. I think we're good."

"Good."

They fell silent and Sam lifted her shoulders again to ease the persistent ache between her shoulder blades. She must have pulled a muscle sometime during their last mission, though she couldn't remember when. The scattered teams were finally settling down and silence was slowly falling around them. For the first time since she'd first stepped through the Stargate three years ago, Sam realized that she was . . . bored. She was too tired to work and hadn't thought to bring a book on this trip. She didn't even have anything good to read loaded onto her PDA or the laptop. God, was she so work-obsessed that she forgot to bring things along for . . . fun? Did she even remember how to have fun?

Fiddling with her rapidly cooling mug of tea, Sam sighed again.

"Okay?"

"Yes."

"Sure?"

"Well, yes. I am. Sure."

"You don't sound sure."

Sam sighed again. "Believe it or not, Sir, but I'm . . . well, bored. Are you sure we can't take a watch rotation?"

O'Neill rolled his eyes. "Carter, we're on this milk run to get some _rest_. Don't you have some heavy thinking you can do? Calculations to ponder?"

"Not really. I have, well, to be honest, I have a bit of a headache. Have had since our 'giant alien' meeting. It's nothing serious," she added after seeing the look on his face. "I just don't feel like I can focus on work right now."

"Ah." O'Neill set aside his coffee cup and rummaged inside his bag again. "I may have just the thing. "Nintendo?"

Sam, her eyes still on her mug of tea, sighed again. "Sir, it's _neutrino's."_

 _"Carter,"_ said O'Neill, perfectly mimicking her tone, "it's _Nintendo."_ He held up the small game with a challenging smirk, then gave it a waggle for emphasis.

"Oh." Sam looked up, glancing from her CO to the game and back again. Finally she shrugged. "Sure."

"Sure?" O'Neill's surprise was obvious.

Sam shrugged again. "Why not?"

She shifted closer and then leaned in to look over his shoulder as he explained the premise of the game. Close enough that she could feel him, could smell him. She allowed herself to enjoy the moment, rather like the day this had all began, sitting beside him in the briefing room. As she watched him set the game up for two players she settled deeper onto the makeshift pile of jackets they'd piled up to sit on, her back pressed to the large boulder behind them. The fire crackled and danced and Sam glanced around, watching as personnel moved in and around the tents in the large encampment.

After a few minutes of intense concentration and not a few muttered curses, O'Neill passed the game over to Sam for her turn. She'd never before played one of the smaller, portable games and her learning curve was steep. It didn't help that her attention was pulled by O'Neill as he leaned over her shoulder, offering helpful suggestions and hints as she encountered various obstacles in the game. She quickly "died" and handed the game back to the Colonel for his turn, reflecting on the fact that not only was she playing a video game with her CO, she was doing so on another planet.

It felt very unlike her. _UnCarterish_ , she imagined O'Neill saying.

But . . . very _right_ as well.

The Colonel punched a fist into the air as he finished his turn. He turned to her with a smirk and a bright twinkle in his eye. "Beat _that_ , Carter!"

As she reached for the game, her shoulder and arm almost wedged against his as they balanced on the pile of jackets, she thought again of the comments back at the SGC. Yes, she sat close to him. Or he to her. Whatever. She gave a mental shrug. Teams got in each others' space. So what? She wasn't going to expend any effort in putting space between them. Any of them. And especially not him. They had so little they could take. So little comfort and so little . . . reward for what they gave.

And gave.

And . . . gave again.

It wasn't against the law–or any regulation she'd ever read–to sit next to your CO. So, until it was, the rest of the world could suck it up.

Sam settled in deeper, her concentration now on the game in her hands. She didn't think she could beat him on this, but she wasn't going down without a fight. She was peripherally aware that while she played, O'Neill heated up their drinks, refreshing her mug with warmer water and a fresh teabag. When he sat back, cup in hand, he settled–deliberately it seemed to Sam–so that he was pressed tightly to her, touching shoulder to knee as they sat in the gathering darkness.

 _Yup_ , Sam thought as her digital persona died another painful death at the hands of a mushroom. _Screw 'em all. I belong here._

~ o0o~

End.

~ o0o~

Author's note: The term "Proxemics" was coined by Edward T. Hall who stated, " _Like gravity, the influence of two bodies on each other is inversely proportional not only to the square of their distance but possibly even the cube of the distance between them._ " Dr. Hall was a mentor of my mentor and a huge influence in my own academic studies. I love that something I wrote seems to fit his theories.


	24. Give and Take

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set after _Nemesis_ , on P3X-234 _._ Ep synopsis: _SG-1, minus Daniel who's recovering from an emergency appendectomy (it really was Shanks' app vessel before the Replicator bugs reach Earth. This is the first half of the two-part season ender._

~ o0o~

 _  
**Give and Take**   
_

~ o0o~

Chulak

Village near the Stargate

Sam scuffed her boots along the dusty path, her head down, and her hands jammed deep into the pockets of her BDU's. It felt good to have the uniform on again. Good to have it _clean_ again. The people of Teal'c's tribe, _People of the Sun High Plains,_ she reminded herself quickly, had been so nice to them. So willing to help, but their choice in clothing, especially for the women, left a great deal to be desired. And little to the imagination.

Sam tugged her overshirt closer around her shoulders as the night breeze picked up. With a glance over her shoulder at the two young warriors Bra'tac had chosen to accompany her, she continued her trek back into the village, her thoughts far away. It had been nearly a week since they'd 'gated here. Nearly a week and still no answer from Earth. Their first stop, P3X-234, had been Teal'c's choice, and while Sam could see why he'd chosen it, she also agreed with their decision as a team to not remain their. While the land was lush and lovely, and the stargate located on a brief rise in a rolling, grassy plain, there had been nothing –and no one–to offer protection should they need it.

Thor's capsule had disappeared in a blinding flash of light the moment she, Teal'c and the Colonel dashed through the gate, leaving them all stunned for a moment. They'd waited for two more hours near the gate, in case the Asgard that had taken Thor were of a mind to give them a lift too; however, as night fell it became apparent that they were on their own. Sam's lips lifted in tiny smile as she recalled O'Neill's somewhat indignant grumbling about the Asgard and a lack of gratitude. With no food and no survival gear, Teal'c had suggested that they 'gate to Chulak. It was just as easy to 'gate home from there as it was from this lovely, if uninhabited, place.

Topping the small rise that rolled down into the village, Sam lifted her gaze and studied the layout, her eyes automatically searching the villagers for familiar faces. Ry'ac and his friends were free of their lessons for the day and could be seen at the farthest edges of the village area, a small knot of boys and girls running and laughing. The sight brought another smile to Sam's face. Usually she was able to spot her Colonel mixed in with that group, but he seemed to be absent today.

With a wave to one of the villagers resting on the low wall over her garden, Sam continued on. She was hungry after her walk to the 'gate, and a little irritated that she'd forgotten to bring a snack along on the three-hour round trip. Kar'el, the more outgoing of the two who most often escorted her, gave her a brief wave as he and his friend peeled off to join more young warriors around the open fire in the center of town. Sam watched them go, wondering if she went with them if she'd find food. The trouble was that if she joined the group around the fire, she'd be sending the wrong message and she didn't want to make that mistake.

Again.

~ o0o~

 _Sam frowned and pressed a hand to her stomach, hoping the growl that had rolled through her had not been audible to those around her. She, Teal'c, and the Colonel had just arrived in the village and Teal'c's people seemed very happy to see them._

" _Seem happy we're here, don't they?" O'Neill asked beside her, unknowingly echoing her thoughts._

" _Yeah." Sam's stomach rumbled again and this time she saw O'Neill's mouth twitch slightly. "You think there's food around here, Sir?"_

" _I'll check." O'Neill shot her a small smile as he strode off, mixing in with Teal'c's friends easily, accepted for his manhood as much as anything else._

 _Sam, meanwhile, had spotted a roaring fire situated in the center of the village. She could see folks circling the fire casually. Some standing, some sitting. All appeared to be having a good time. And best of all, she realized, she could see plates being passed from person to person. She glanced around for her Colonel, trying to tell him she'd figured it out, but was unable to spot him. Checking again, she saw that a great many of the folks around the fire were women, so that meant she'd likely be welcome there, too. With one last glance toward Teal'c and the Colonel, Sam headed toward the fire._

 _She was greeted warmly by the men, the greeting a bit more reserved from the women. One woman stood up and walked closer, peering intently at first Sam's bright blonde hair, then into her eyes. She frowned and muttered under her breath, but seemed to respond when Sam smiled at her, hoping to set the woman at ease. After a long moment the woman nodded to Sam and waved her toward the fire._

 _Several young men scrambled to their feet to make room and Sam was oddly flattered by the gesture. She smiled her thanks and sat down, then looked around for one of the passing plates of food she'd spotted earlier, but trying not to be too obvious about it. Finally she smelled one before she saw it and she eagerly sat up. One man, almost a boy, really, snatched the plate as it passed and then slowly turned to Sam. He offered up the plate and Sam's mouth watered. Piled high and still steaming were slices of some sort of meat that gave off the most enticing aroma she'd ever smelled. The boy nodded to her and lifted the plate closer. Sam, not seeing any utensils about, pulled her knife from it's sheath and was about to spear a piece when her arm was caught from behind._

 _Turning swiftly she found herself almost nose-to-nose with O'Neill. "Wh– Sir?"_

" _Don't"_

 _Confused, Sam could only stare at him. "Don't what, Sir?" She tried to pull her arm free and was surprised when O'Neill shook his head and tightened his grip. "Colonel, what's wrong? I wasn't going to hurt the kid, I was just going to take a slice of –"_

" _Carter. This is their cake."_

 _Truly baffled now, Sam could only stare. She glanced back over her shoulder to find the young man with the plate staring balefully at O'Neill, the plate of food suspended between them. She glanced from boy's face to the still steaming, mouthwatering meat and back again, then followed the boy's gaze to O'Neill. "Their . . . cake?"_

 _O'Neill's grip tightened further and his tone was more urgent. He leaned close and said meaningfully, "Their_ cake."

" _You can't mean . . ."_

" _Kynthia."_

 _Sam jerked backward, away from the boy and the plate, almost tumbling into O'Neill's arms. "Oh, crap. Really?"_

" _Yes, really. Look around you, Carter, nobody around this fire is older that 20!"_

" _Yes, but . . .Oh." Sam let O'Neill lift her to her feet, scarcely noticing that he had yet to let go of her arm as they walked, though his touch had gentled now that she was away from her eager would-be suitor. "So, if I had taken the meat from him . . ."_

" _Par-tay."_

" _Wow."_

" _That's what_ I _thought," the Colonel muttered, his voice grim._

 _Sam let herself be pulled along, her mind working furiously. "So, just so I have this clear. The whole offering food thing?"_

" _Offer, accept, turn it around then offer, accept."_

" _And that means . . . ?"_

" _I do."_

"' _You do,'?" Sam repeated._

" _No,_ you _do. Or did. Or almost did. For good."_

 _O'Neill stopped them both, then turned to face Sam. She could see the lingering concern in his eyes and offered him a weak smile. "Wow," she said again. "Thanks, Sir. For the rescue._ That _would have been fun to explain in a report."_

" _Especially the part about the groom being barely seventeen." The Colonel's lips quirked up in a small smile and he waited for her to catch his gaze, then said, "C'mon, Bra'tac's got some room for us at the grown-ups table._

 _Seventeen? Sam swallowed hard. "I'm, um, not sure I'm still hungry."_

" _Okay, then you can watch me eat." O'Neill paused and then added, "Um, but, just to be safe, don't ask anybody but me to pass the potatoes."_

~ o0o~

"Hey." O'Neill looked up as she entered the hut they'd been loaned for the duration of their stay. "Any luck?"

"No, Sir. Still not engaging."

"Must be the world's longest busy signal."

"I figured they'd have the backup 'gate out of storage by now." Sam sighed as she took off her jacket and draped it over a chair. She glanced up quickly as O'Neill picked up the jacket again and added to the one he had draped over his arm. He started for the door and stopped as she asked, "Sir?"

"C'mon." The Colonel reached out to pull her behind him then quickly dropped his hand down again, instead waving her forward.

He'd been doing that a lot lately. He'd reach for her, then let his hand fall away. Or pull it back. Sam knew she'd been doing the same thing. It was only natural, she told herself. They were the only Tau'ri on the planet. Teal'c was often out and about with his old friends, or his family, or Bra'tac, leaving Sam and the Colonel to fend for themselves. The Colonel had quickly joined one of the hunting parties and then fished on the days the men weren't out looking for food. Sam, however, didn't fit in. She didn't enjoy cooking, or cleaning, or sewing, and none of the warriors would spar with her. O'Neill did, and he invited her fishing with him when he went. In fact . . . Sam smiled as she realized where he was leading her.

"Night fishing, Colonel?" Sam asked quietly as they drew near to the space he'd set up along the babbling brook that bordered the north end of the village.

"Yup. Ry'ac swears that the fish bite better at night." O'Neill dropped down beside the small fire he'd built and began to prepare their poles.

Sam joined him, trying not to think too much about how much she was enjoying this time alone with her Colonel. "Won't the fire scare them off?"

"Shouldn't. Might make it better, even. Flashes of light on the water. Might make the fish think it's food."

Sam nodded and took the pole from him. She settled herself into position, her back to the tree she shared with him, her line disappearing into the dark waters rolling past. The last rays of sun faded into night and the fire popped and crackled as O'Neill slowly fed more fuel. She could see the light doing just as he'd said it would, dancing and flickering across the surface of the water, hopefully enticing fish to rise. Just as he joined her, Sam's line snapped tight. Immediately the Colonel was on his feet, the makeshift net he'd made held loosely in his hands.

"Easy, Carter. Looks like a biggie. Should make a great dinner."

"I've got it, Sir. Can you . . . yes. Right there. Ready?" Sam waited for his nod before giving a sharp pull on her fishing pole. As she'd intended, the fish shot out of the water in a graceful arc only to be snatched out of the air by O'Neill's net.

"Got it!"

The grin he flashed her shot straight through her, and Sam bit her lip to keep from saying something inappropriate. It was ridiculous to react this way to a man who'd just caught their dinner in mid-air. To distract herself, Sam handed him her pole and took the net from him. "I'll take care of this one, Sir, if you want to try to catch another."

"You sure?" O'Neill tilted his head. "You usually ask me to–"

Sam shrugged. "I feel like cutting something up, that's all." She efficiently dispatched the fish, then set about gutting it, careful to slice away from her body and concentrating carefully on the position of her fingers. After a moment she looked up to find the Colonel, line dutifully back in the water, his eyes on her face.

"Carter, what's goin' on?"

Shrugging again, Sam let a small bit of the frustration she was feeling creep into her voice. "I guess . . . I guess I figured we'd be home by now."

"I know. And . . ." He waved one hand encouragingly. He'd turned back to face the river but Sam knew that he was completely focused on what she was saying.

"What if . . . what if they think we're dead?"

"I'm pretty sure they've noticed the 'gate's missing, Carter. That's a pretty big clue."

Sam sighed as she wrapped the fish in the broad leaves that were so prevalent to the area. She'd had this argument with herself for days, and it felt good to say the words out loud. Especially to him. "I know that logically, Colonel. But . . . I don't know. I keep thinking that something's gone wrong. What if someone found a way to prevent us . . . them . . . from putting up the backup 'gate?"

"Who?"

"I don't know . . . _someone_ ," Sam replied slightly irritably, uncharacteristically snapping at him. She was being irrational and it didn't help to realize that. She carefully placed the wrapped fish in the fire and settled in to wait for it to cook. She wished she'd had a chance to grab a snack from the hut before he'd dragged her out here, she was starving and that wasn't helping her mood any. Her stomach rumbled and she shifted, sternly telling it to shut up and wait for the fish that was just beginning to steam.

"Here."

Sam looked up to see the Colonel holding out his hand. She automatically held up hers and when he opened his fist caught the tumble of berries as they cascaded into her cupped palms. "Berries?"

"Yeah. Kind of like blueberries. Try 'em, they're great."

Biting into a berry, Sam had to agree. Slightly cinnamon-y and sweet, the berry juice exploded in her mouth. She savored the taste and then, acceding to the demands of her stomach, quickly ate two more. "Mmh, thanks."

"No problem."

Sam set the berries aside and carefully poked two sticks into the fire to turn their fish. She added a few more branches to the fire and then sat back again, popping two more berries into her mouth. She realized she was in a slightly better mood and wondered if her blood sugar had gotten too low before.

"Better?"

"Hm?"

"You seemed a bit . . . cranky."

"I know. Sorry."

"Need more?"

"No, I'm good 'til the fish is ready." Sam glanced quickly at him. "I _am_ sorry, Sir. For snapping."

"No need." O'Neill paused, then recast his line. His movement brought his shoulder into contact with hers. "We will get home, Sam. I promise. Hammond won't leave us behind."

Sam sighed. "I know. I just . . . I hate feeling useless. There's nothing for me to _do_ here."

O'Neill cast his line again. "I guess it's a good thing you weren't going to join me in Minnesota, then."

Puzzled and slightly hurt, because she really _had_ , for one fleeting instant, considered it, Sam turned to face him. "Why's that?"

"Cause this," he waved his hand indicating the creek, the fire, and the fishing pole. "This is a lot like my cabin. Only with less beer."

"But," Sam bit her lip. The fire popped beside her and she jumped. "But," she tried again. "I–it would be different. There. Then."

"How so?"

"Because there I'd at least have the _option_ of doing something. I mean, if I went. Which I wasn't going to, but I might have. You know. I could have fished, _or_ , you know. Found something else to do." Realizing she was rambling, Sam reached over and opened the leaves wrapped around the fish, checking to see if it was done. A few more minutes, she thought. She looked again at the Colonel, wanting him to know that she really _had_ wanted to go. And she did. So much so that she was afraid of the wanting. She'd come close. Oh, so close to accepting that invitation.

"I see," said O'Neill, interrupting her thoughts. "So, you were, ah, considering . . ."

"Yes. I mean, like you said–"

"Yes. Nothing wrong with that. Right."

Sam fell silent and thought again of his invitation. Of the thrill that had zinged through her when she realized he wasn't just _telling_ her of his plans, he was _including_ her in them. Asking her to join him. Asking her to come to his special place. And how he'd looked so disappointed when she'd turned him down. And how much she'd hated to turn him down. So much so that she'd, for the first time in her adult life, had stomped relentlessly down on her "good officer" and chased after him. She'd opened her mouth, fully intending to take him up on his offer, and then been stunned to hear herself wish him a "good time."

The smell of roasting fish roused her and Sam quickly pulled the fish out of the embers. She set it carefully on a rock and opened the charred leaves, waving the steam away. Letting it sit to cool for a moment, Sam looked over to find O'Neill watching her, and he wasn't empty-handed. He had set aside his fishing pole and was holding a plate out toward her. On it was piled a mixture of the vegetables the People ate daily and next to that . . . Sam looked up into his brown eyes. A pile of neatly sliced meat.

It wasn't steaming, but it looked just as good as had the meat that first night when O'Neill had pulled her away from the buff young man who'd offered her a similar plate.

"Where'd that–?"

"Creeda packed me a picnic dinner."

"But, what about our fish?"

"No reason we can't have that, too. I wanted to surprise you, but then you caught that whopper. Then I thought we'd just have that, but I know how much you like this stuff, so . . ." O'Neill shrugged slightly, the plate rising and falling with the gesture.

Sam studied him for a long moment, unsure of what to do next. They'd joked for days about her near-miss in the tribal marriage-slash-mating game, and, though they kept it light, O'Neill insisted that at any large gathering _he_ was the one to pass Sam anything. He insisted it didn't mean anything but then continued the practice at any communal meal. Just making sure, he'd said when she'd asked him.

Making sure of what, Sam didn't know, and wasn't certain she wanted to ask.

O'Neill held the plate higher, his eyes on hers, his gaze expectant. Sam slowly raised her hand and lifted off a thin slice. She rolled it up and bit into it, a small sigh of contentment escaping her lips. God, whatever it was they spiced this stuff with, she wanted some! Then again, maybe it was the server? She looked again up at O'Neill to find his gaze still on hers, unwavering. Sam took a deep breath and made a decision. She took the plate from him and then offered him the opportunity to take his own share.

As she had, he slowly lifted a single slice, rolled it up and popped it into his mouth. Like her, he let out a small sigh of satisfaction as he savored the unique taste. Her nerves suddenly getting the best of her, Sam made a process out of finding a good place upon which to set the plate, fighting the urge to reach out to catch the small dribble of juice hovering at the corner of his mouth. She glanced up at him and then quickly away as his tongue flicked out to catch the errant drip.

Damn.

"I, um. I'm pretty sure the fish is ready," she said quietly. She slid some of the flaky white fish onto a plate he held out, then offered it to him. As they had done with the meat, they repeated with the fish. This time O'Neill took a small portion and then took the plate from her so Sam could do the same. As she ate the delicate, still steaming fish, Sam tried not to focus on how ritualistic their meal had become.

How symbolic.

How . . . intimate.

The only thing missing was her feeding him and vice-versa, and Sam immediately clamped down on that thought. It was just dinner. Just food. No big deal. He'd offered some to her and she'd done the same. End of discussion. And yet . . . for one moment, it had felt like so much more.

Deeper.

More meaningful.

While her thoughts whirled, they continued to share their meal, each eating from both plates, sometimes Sam lifting one, sometimes the Colonel. It didn't seem to occur to either to split the portions between the two plates and eat separately. Or if it did occur to the Colonel he never acted on it, and for that Sam was grateful.

All too soon the delicious food was gone and Sam sat back again against the tree, content.

"Didja get enough?" O'Neill's voice was soft in the velvety darkness.

"Yes, thanks. Did you?"

"Yup." The Colonel tossed another log onto the fire, seemingly as loathe as was Sam to leave their spot. He leaned back against their tree and let out a long sigh. "Still, could've used some beer."

"Or a s'more." Sam looked over to find him facing her, his eyes on hers, and the relaxed smile slowly slipped from her face. The firelight rendered them dark, swallowing the warm brown she'd come to admire so much. He had a day's growth of beard on his face and had never looked more appealing to her. Their faces were inches apart and Sam could feel his breath on her face. _This_ , she thought. This _is why I turned down his invitation. Because it would be so easy, so_ easy _to just lean forward and . . .._

Breaking his gaze, Sam tipped her head back and rested it on the tree, closing her eyes. Very slowly she let herself lean into him, into the solid strength of him, and was pleased more than was reasonable that he just as gently leaned back, matching her pressure. Shoulder-to-shoulder they sat, a fire to one side and a chuckling stream to the other. After a minute, she spoke again, her voice just as soft as his, "Beer. S'mores. Got it. Maybe next time."

"Count on it." His words were a promise.

"I will." She answered his promise with one of her own.

~ o0o~

End.

~ o0o~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: I know that lots of folks have done the whole "a week on P3X-234" thing. I also know that expectations were high for this one as a _Campfire_ , but I just couldn't see them going at it like rabbits 'cause they're stranded for a week. And it also occurred to me that so many of those stories involved Sam, Jack, and Teal'c being _alone_ on that planet. Why? They've got a perfectly good Stargate that can take them anywhere! So . . . why not visit Teal'c's family?
> 
> And look! We're done with Season 3! On to Season 4 now! Woohoo!


End file.
